The Conversation
by knitzkampf
Summary: A series of conversations among the main characters of the original trilogy. Set after ANH but will include some AU.
1. Chapter 1

"Do you have family, Han?" Luke's voice wafted through the pipes down to where Leia was searching for equipment. The Captain had given her a data pad containing a list of items, he assured her, she'd find down there in the bays.

"I was born, wasn't I?" she heard Han answer and she shook her head in mild amusement as she pawed through a box of transponders, seeking a number 7. The Captain's stylus writing was surprisingly neat.

She cocked her head, waiting, thinking she heard Luke's amusement as well.

"That's not what I meant," he said dryly and she smiled openly.

They were on their way to Yavin, safely in hyperspace, with several more hours of travel ahead of them. All had showered the stench of the garbage masher out of their clothes and hair, Captain Solo had provided food, and now he had assigned them each a task in helping repair damages sustained in the getaway flight from the Death Star against Tie Fighters.

Ostensibly, he was concerned for his ship. He was a good captain, Leia decided, whatever else he was, placing the number 7 in the tray and moving on to the next on the list. She was concerned for the ship as well, fearing that more than the loss of the communications array was going to derail their arrival. She'd believe it only when they got there. The hours past, the hours ahead, prevented her from being able to think beyond what she was doing at the moment.

But sidelong glances towards Luke and Leia showed her a man unused to human companionship, a man not unused to tragedy, and a man with a knack for channeling focus into coping.

His partner and copilot, the Wookie Chewbacca, was gentler with them, but it tended to bring both Luke and Leia to emotional collapse. As soon as Captain Solo noticed, he'd be off and running to hold things together. The med scan for Leia had prompted a cathartic screaming match; the flight sims gave Luke a sense of empowerment.

Now all the ship's occupants, Captain Solo; Luke Skywalker; Leia, the Princess; Chewie and two droids; were scattered in different tech and engineering stations. Their work pace lacked the urgency that lay heavily in Leia's stomach, forbidding sleep, forbidding food. She knew it was the same with Luke, why he was peppering the captain with questions.

"I meant -" Luke continued.

"I know what you meant," the Captain groused. From down in the storage bays Luke's voice was soft and melancholy; Han's deep and slow. He had a habit of taking a deep breath in the middle of a sentence, which Leia found quite compelling. He could be quite tactless, so it was interesting that he sometimes stopped himself, as if double checking his own thoughts.

There was a clang of metal, perhaps a tool dropping. "Oops," Luke said.

"Allow me, Master Luke," a third voice chimed. C-3PO, Leia recognized. The protocol droid that had served her family for years, only to be sent away by her in an escape pod, and to wind up in the possession of Luke Skywalker. The coincidence, the randomness, of life, struck her. This droid and the little astromech she sent with it, the schematics in its data storage so vital, had brought her together with Luke, with this Captain. A random sequence of events had cost her her life on Alderaan, had lost Luke's on Tatooine. She grieved for him as much as she grieved for herself. One billion or two people. There was no difference in size.

"Thanks, 3PO," Luke said. There was a warbling from Chewbacca.

"No, we are not," Solo countered grumpily. "Her Royalness needs to send a message."

Leia cringed, wishing she couldn't hear. _Leia. I'm Leia,_ she thought. Her Royalness. Why had he said that? Tears stung her eyes. So much was in that statement, so much he probably hadn't meant. Royal Princess of Alderaan. No more. Tears blurred his neat writing. _Focus,_ she told herself. _30 bit circuit board. To hell with him. His Captainness._

"Then replace it," she heard the captain snap at Chewbacca.

"I can't make out any words," Luke commented. "How did you learn Wookie?"

"Shiriywook." Han's voice was distant and concentrated, as if he were staring at connections and only half listening. "Been around Wookies most of my life."

"What doe he call you?"

"Call me?"

"Yeah. Does he say 'Han'?"

"Uh. I guess he doesn't." There was a sense of wonder in Han's voice. "He calls me, uh, Vine Climber. Funny. Never really thought about it before."

"Vine Climber?" Luke's voice came down to Leia with surprise and humor. "What's that mean? Do you climb vines?"

Leia found the light gauge wire as she waited for the captain's answer. Only two more things on her list.

"No." Han still sounded perplexed. "Not unless I have to. It's" he took a deep breath "… cultural. Wookies are arboreal – they live in a forest canopy. They travel between tree tops. A vine climber is one who, well," and he paused again, and Leia waited for his melodic tone to resume after a long exhale, "who... uses the vines instead of branches. And they aren't predictable – they snap, or break. So a vine climber doesn't plan, or he takes chances."

"Reckless," Luke commented mildly. "Sounds a lot like you, Han."

"What do you know about me?" Solo said. "Nothing."

"I know you go hollering outnumbered after stormtroopers. That was kind of reckless, I'd say."

"Well. What about you?" Han's voice became a high mimic. "'Let's go rescue a princess'".

The last relay loaded on her tray, Leia headed for the lift to carry her back to where the men were making repairs.

"Does Chewbacca have a name for Princess Leia?"

"Chief." Solo's answer was immediate.

"Chief, 'cause she's a princess, or chief because she took charge?" Leia wondered if she should react in some way, be flattered or annoyed, but Luke was only making observations, and Leia was curious what the captain would have to say.

"I'd say she kinda took charge, wouldn't you?" There was no bitterness in his voice, she noted. Maybe, even, a little admiration. She felt her cheeks color with pride and she entered the lift.

"What about" was all she heard of Luke's last question as the lift doors closed on her and their voices fell away.


	2. Chapter 2

The _Millenium Falcon_ was in its night cycle. The ship's engines murmured; a vibrating hum that lulled passengers to sleep. Lights were set low and all was quiet.

Luke padded through the quiet ship, having finished with his shift, considering where to lay his head tonight. He was the only one without any set quarters. Han of course had the captain's quarters; Chewie used the crew cabin and had swung a huge hammock across it. Princess Leia had become such a frequent passenger that Han had just cleared a cabin for her, completely unprompted. Both ignored the chivalry of his gesture. Luke didn't want to use the gaming bench. He'd woken with a crick in his neck from sleeping there last time, and didn't want to repeat that. Princess Leia wasn't on watch, so he couldn't go in her quarters. Chewie wouldn't mind if he used the Wookie's oversized hammock, since he would be spending the next 6 time parts in the cockpit, but instead Luke palmed open the door to the captain's quarters. Immediately the snoring stopped and Luke heard rustling along the wall.

"It's me, Han," Luke whispered into the dark. "Don't shoot." He darted into the 'fresher, not using the lights until the door was shut. When he emerged Han was pulling a shirt on.

"Take the bunk, kid. I'm up," he told Luke. "Sugared stars." Luke heard the whoosh of the door opening, and then silence and darkness was all there was to keep him company.

In her own bunk in her own private quarters, Princess Leia was dreaming. Her viewpoint swooped from high in the trees, noting the space between the leaves of the trees where golden sunlight and blue sky peeked. She was at the top of the bluffs where the sky fliers liked to launch on Alderaan. It was a beautiful day, and the colors, the colors alone, told her how the sun would feel on her skin, how dry the air would feel as the breeze lifted her hair. It was beautiful. She was happy.

Long, wooden picnic tables had been set atop the bluffs and a large group of people were sitting at them, talking. The sounds, the sounds alone, told her there was friendship and togetherness. She sat among the people, and they were her family. Impossibly so, to have so large a number, but the sight of this family told her she belonged to them. She sat among her family and she was about 15, the age she had moved from Alderaan to Coruscant to take a seat in the Senate. Yet she didn't look a Senator. She was young, youthful, dressed simply, her hair in a braid. Next to her and above her and around her was a presence. It seemed to be a cloud, but when she looked up at it, she saw, not quite a face, not quite a cloud, but something; something gently smiling, something loving. This was hers and hers alone.

While dreaming Leia was moved. The real tear that settled in the corner of her eye didn't wake her. To be so loved, accepted… all her foibles, all her evils. This presence was tender, affectionate. It filled her from within and followed her from without. She whimpered with joy. She'd never felt anything like it. Never had she known such love, such peace.

Leia stood in her Senate gowns, in the circular passage that surrounded the upper levels of the Senate floor on Coruscant. She was wearing her senatorial robes, her hair done in two buns at the sides of her head, in the popular fashion of the time. Her dress was a bit dingy. She looked around. Beings of all kinds were strolling by, deep in conversation. Tables were set near the numerous entryways, covered with shimmering cloth. Two beings manned each table, and various life forms would approach the tables and affix their signatures on a wide data board.

Leia soaked in the familiarity of the passage, and began to look for the entryway where her Senate seat was closest. Suddenly, Luke took her elbow, began steering her away. "I'm so sorry," he murmured.

He marched up to a table, affixed his signature, and she had a sense that _he_ was the Senator now. While he signed she looked through the window of the closed entryway, saw …. something. Dark hair, relaxed fingers. It wasn't a doorway to the Senate chambers; it was a room. She stepped toward it, needing to see…

"I hate to tell you, Princess," Luke began, and he promenaded her around the passage. Their conversation was interrupted by beings offering her condolences, by Luke signing at tables, and always she saw a doorway where a person lay inside. Luke would head in the door's direction and then be beckoned to the table to affix his signature. Then he would be back at her side, murmuring, "I'm so sorry, Princess, but..." and he would walk to the next table, the next doorway. The cycle would begin again. Everybody said they were sorry, nobody would let her see, or even tell her in so many specific words, but she knew that Han had died and he was behind that door. And while everybody was sorry for her there remained an air of detachment in their own attitudes, even Luke's. All she wanted was to see him, his hair, touch his fingers, but she couldn't get to him.

The next time Luke grabbed her elbow she gasped awake. His words echoed in her head and she slowly let the false reality of the Senate chambers disappear. She was on the _Falcon._ Luke wasn't a Senator and Han wasn't dead. A profound sadness lingered with her. She blinked, wondering where that dream had come from and much preferring the loving presence of her cloud.

She remembered now. She had dreamed of Alderaan. Or, she had been on Alderaan and dreamed of love. Was Alderaan love? All those people… her impossible family. Alderaan was home. She had loved her home. And -the realization was painful- her home had loved her. She reached for its loving acceptance and found it was still there, inside her; she still had her cloud, her sun, whatever it was. But she couldn't love it back anymore. Maybe that's why her dream had turned so sad?

Leia rose from her bunk to use the 'fresher. The mirror showed her swathed in melancholy. She wasn't near tears, but something deep inside her mourned. In her dream she mourned Han, and he was hers to mourn alone. She touched her cheek, where the shadow of the tear remained. How did she go from having something so beautiful it couldn't have a form, to mourning Han Solo, the most exasperating man in the galaxy? Weird. And how did Luke Skywalker, sweet, empathetic Luke Skywalker come to be a Senator?

The ship was still quiet. She moved along the corridor to the cockpit, stopping a moment before continuing. Han sat at the engineering console. He was not wearing his boots or blaster, and he was intent on the screen. His left leg jiggled energetically and he rubbed the scar on his chin absentmindedly. Leia looked at his hand, remembered the curled fingers. She was sorry her dream had killed him.

She decided to turn back, not wishing to disturb him and dispel the intensity her dream imparted to her with his loss. The door to the captain's quarters was open and Luke was inside, a stack of flimsis on the bunk.

"Day's light, Luke," she greeted. "Don't tell me you are working?"

He gave her a sheepish smile. "Proud of me? I actually packed reports to finish. I'm starting to appreciate hyperspace as catch-up time. This commander business isn't all it's cracked up to be. My guys get down time, but I don't." He waved a hand across the flimsis. "I get to fill out all these. Who reads 'em anyway?"

"I do," Leia offered. "You're doing a great job. You should read Han's." A stab of melancholy nagged at her.

Luke was incredulous. "He does paperwork?"

"Command wants briefings," Leia shrugged. "Doesn't mean he takes them seriously. Last one I read he was waxing poetic on the past-season berries he got from a fruit broker."

Luke gave a silent laugh. "I remember when he brought those back. He made me an ice from them." 

Leia nodded. "I had some too. I've got some work with me, too – let me get mine. I'll sit with you," she offered.

"Great," Luke said. "I'll see if there's some kaf."

She returned in a moment and found he'd brought a butler of hot kaf with two mugs. Leia settled on the bunk with her back against a pillow on the wall. She opened her bag and pulled out her own reports, but her eyes settled on Han's boots, carelessly tossed in the corner of the small room.

"Hey," Luke prompted her. "Han's boots smell?"

Leia hadn't realized her attention had drifted back to her dreams. She laughed dismissively. "No," she smiled. "I was thinking. I had a dream about him last night."

Luke's eyebrows rose. "Anything I need to inform Rogue Squadron of?"

"Nothing for the betting pool, no." Leia found she couldn't quite meet Luke's probing blue eyes. "I dreamed he died."

"That's not a good dream."

"Or, that he was dead. Everyone was telling me, asking me, if I'd seen him, that he was dead. You kept trying to bring me to him, but you'd get distracted, have to sign these boards….You were a Senator," she finished, still amazed he had such a position of power in her dream.

Luke sat a little straighter. "I was?"

"It was the weirdest dream. Everyone was worried, but more about how to tell me. And I was walking with you, I really wanted to see him. I don't know why, if he was dead, but I wanted to. And you kept having to leave me, things you had to do. It's still so clear." Leia remembered the feelings of dread and sadness and regret and loss, of things undone, unsaid. "Did you ever have a dream that just stayed with you the entire day? I just can't get rid of the mood of it, this melancholy."

Luke nodded, understanding. "I used to dream, when I was a kid, that my father was coming to get me. And I'd be, oh I don't know, quietly excited? I'd go around my day, doing chores, just waiting and excited. That I'd finally know him. And he wanted to know me. But something would always come up, and he'd call. Something always prevented him. But he wasn't the neglectful, bad father. He was genuinely sad, and so was I. I'd think about it all day." His eyes found Leia's and he was a little embarrassed, his childhood weakness laid out in front of her.

"I'm wondering why I dreamed _him,"_ Leia admitted. "It's not like I know him all that well. And before, I dreamed I was on Alderaan, and everything was so tender; I was so content. Then," she shrugged.

They were silent while they drank kaf. "So I was a Senator, eh?" Luke grinned.

Leia smiled. "Maybe I'm trying to understand what you both are to me," she said. "You two are a link between my old life and this new one. Maybe I'm sad when I see you because it reminds me of how much I've lost."

It disturbed Luke to think that Leia associated him with sadness. He struggled to find a new perspective for her. "But, too, we're your future? Because, yes, we came in when you lost Alderaan, but we helped you destroy the Death Star. And the Rebellion continues because of that. And it's growing," he added, warming to his analogy. "So, if you're sad when you see us," he knew you couldn't tell a person what not to feel, "you should also feel hopeful." He leaned towards her, "and I'm a Senator! I'm hopeful it means I'll find out more about the Force someday."

"Get your own dreams," Leia retorted, whacking him lightly with a pillow and feeling still melancholy, but no longer so alone. She sighed. "Well, as upset as I was in the dream, no doubt we'll be wanting to whack Han on the head with a hydrospanner in a few hours."

Luke laughed. "You, maybe. He doesn't often have that effect on me. He's not into guys."

"You call that flirting?" Leia asked in surprise. She shook her head. "The things he says."

"He does it on purpose, you know."

"Sometimes, I do know. His eyes get all sparkly."

Luke tried not to smile at her observation. He knew Han was playful, but he'd never describe his eyes as 'sparkly'. _Then again,_ Luke thought wryly, _I'm not into guys either._

"He's good at pushing your buttons," Luke said frankly. "I've seen you make a few good hits too." He drank his cooling kaf and set the mug on the ledge behind him. "We might be symbols, Leia, of your past. And I'd like to think your future, too. We are, 'cause we're still here. But, outside of dreams, we're here. You know that, right? In the real world, we talk and laugh and argue and just are -friends."

Leia nodded thoughtfully, seeing the long wooden table, the family. She put a face on two near her, Luke's and Han's, looked up at the presence of love and told it, _Them too._


	3. Chapter 3

_Here's another installment for you - three conversations in one! I didn't want to split them up. Thanks to all who have read and left comments._

 _I have forgotten to issue the proper disclaimers in previous chapters, but to whom it may concern, they apply to me as well!_

Leia watched Wedge's deft fingers manipulate the board and snap it into place. "...each fighter gets one," he was explaining to her. "and the mother board picks up the relay, and reads the data. They're gonna be a big help."

"And Captain Solo got them for you?" She peered around his shoulder, maneuvering carefully around the parts and pieces of ship on the ground.

Captain Solo had gone and been back numerous times in the months since delivering her to the Rebel Base on Yavin. Alliance personnel had also moved several times, hasty evacuations from the Empire's aggressive search, but somehow Solo had managed to locate Command Center easier than the Imperials. He never had a landing code and was greeted with armed escorts until his good faith could be established.

Leia grappled with various emotions when it came to the smuggler. Luke said Han was in the business of friendship, and that was the most they could expect. She felt business didn't belong with friendship, and she couldn't rectify the two together. Not at all. She didn't understand Luke's, or even Han's viewpoint. She no longer greeted Han with a full-on hug, and she always let him go, wondering when life would catch up with him.

"Yeah," Wedge's lazy Corellian drawl, the same as Han's, brought her back to the conversation, "he said he 'encountered' them on one of the runs. I'm sure he stole them," Wedge shrugged, "but hey, who am I to question? It's an excellent haul."

"Surprisingly helpful of him," she said mildly.

Wedge saw through her comment. "Yeah, it was," he said as mildly. He tinkered some more, then added thoughtfully, "you know, if this were Corellia, Solo and I wouldn't be friends."

Leia was intrigued. "Why do you say that?"

"I'm from the Hill Country. I'm not sure, but I think he's from the Water Lands."

"So the geography means you wouldn't have met?" Leia considered. Alderaan was also a large planet with diverse geographical regions. True, most of her friends were from her same continent, but she had also met many others at boarding school. The diversity of the populace she had met at her school gave her more an education than her instructors could ever have dreamed.

"Ha, it's not that simple. In our mythology the two groups don't get along."

"I'm not too familiar with the mythology of Corellia."

"Well, the planets in the system were created by the union of Air and Matter – like space and earth, I guess – and they had two sons. The two always fought and never got along, to the point of trying to kill each other. Matter, the father figure, got ticked off and separated the two. Split himself, moved earth so the mountains rose and the waters flowed in the cracks."

"I like your vernacular of the myth," Leia smiled.

Wedge didn't smile back. "We're still trying to kill each other. During the Clone Wars, Palpatine didn't like the Fish resistance to the Empire, so he had the ghettos built and the Fishies moved there. Blockaded the ports so they couldn't get supplies. When the war was over, the Emperor gave permission to the Dirts, that's us in the Hill Country, to massacre the Fish." He paused and Leia shuddered. "Yeah," he continued, Dirts streamed into the ghetto, set fire to the buildings, and as the people ran out, hacked them with knives."

"I've heard of the massacre," Leia said quietly. One of the worst examples of genocide we know." _Alderaan_ whispered through her mind. Another genocide, arguably quicker but horrid nonetheless.

"Yeah." Wedge was somber. "The blockade caused a million to starve to death in a year's time, but the massacre killed several hundred thousand in just a couple of hours." He sighed. "Solo's a couple of years older than me. He'd have been a kid. If he was there. I was just a baby when it happened." Wedge bent to retrieve a durosteel panel and began to bolt it in place.

Leia bent to retrieve the washers and nuts and held her palm out to him. "How do you know he's a – what's the term? - Fish?"

Wedge nodded. "Yeah, Fishie. I'm not sure. The eyes mainly. Us Dirts, our eyes are brown. He's got that color changing eye, you noticed?"

"That's a trait?" Leia had noticed, many times. She often avoided eye contact, telling herself it was because of the height difference, but really, she loved gazing into the Wookie's soulful blue eyes and he was even taller than Han. Han's eyes were speckled with flecks of brown and green and gold. When he was serious they were dark, like when she'd first met him. She'd seen them green, alight with humor, or gray; somber and perceptive. She was a little relieved a whole population of people had eyes like his. Perhaps when seen in multitudes they wouldn't seem as amazing. "How would a small child survive something like that?" she wondered aloud.

"I heard parents stuck kids under the water, had them breathe through the hollow reeds that grow on the shores. You know, like a snorkel."

"I get it."

"Fishies," Wedge continued his explanation, "are generally taller, leaner – they're great swimmers, so they're built for that. Us, we live in the high altitudes, so we have bigger chests and tend to be shorter. We're paler, too – colder climate. The Water Lands get a lot of sun." Wedge shrugged. "Solo fits the description. I don't really know for sure. Never asked him."

"Hmm. So different," Leia mused.

"Mmm," Wedge agreed, finishing with the panel cover and wiping his hands on a cloth. "You know, it's made me realize." Wedge viewed himself as a simple man, but something important had been stewing in him since he'd joined the Rebellion and he wanted to relieve himself of it, to see if he was right.

Leia regarded Wedge thoughtfully. "What have you realized?"

"This whole war, what we're fighting for, it boils down to perceived enemies, perceived threats. At home, Solo and I… well. Here, those differences go away, mean absolutely nothing," he gestured out to include space. "Here, we play Sabacc together and drink together, and he's.. he's alright. You know? But I've come to realize," Leia paid rapt attention as his manner became very serious, "and I don't mean this as a compliment, but I realize how good the Emperor is at manipulating human fears and mistrust. He did it too with the Jedi. Look how unpopular they were at the end. I actually know people who are in complete acceptance about the purge. And don't get me started on non-humans." Wedge thought of Chewie, introduced around the base as Solo's partner, not slave.

Leia nodded. "My father always preached tolerance and understanding. He said you had to learn to see life through another's eyes before you could take action."

"So, we're doing the right thing, Princess." He waved his hand. "I know I'm just a pilot and I can't express stuff, but.. it's the right thing," he finished lamely. "I just hope we _do_ it."

Leia nodded. She surged with affection for Wedge and was so grateful for his comments she could have hugged him. But she was a leader, and she wouldn't show it. "We'll do it," she told him firmly instead. "Thanks, Wedge. I'll let you finish up." And she strode off, feeling more hopeful than she had in a long time.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

She caught up with the Captain in the hangar bay. Command had secured passage for her on his ship, the _Millennium Falcon_ , to bring her to Avekivva. This world and it's four inhabited moons had ventured overtures of support for the Rebellion, and Leia was to lead a negotiations team. Missions like this kept her very busy after the destruction of the Death Star.

She categorized planetary reactions to the loss of Alderaan in three simple ways: either a world would hide it's proverbial head in the clouds and ignore anything the Empire did; or a world would be so frightened of the Empire's open hostility that it would scamper under its wing of protection as fast as it could. Leia did not have much to do with these worlds and systems yet. If they joined the enemy then that was that. The last category was where Leia directed her attention: to a world so frightened that it realized the Empire had to be stopped. It was to these latter systems that Leia traveled extensively. She had seen the Rebel Alliance grow from tiny resistance and terror cells to an organization with funds, equipment, and armies. Before the Death Star, the Empire had employed intimidation and slow renunciation of liberties to systems it needed to discipline. The Emperor had quietly strangled the life out of a planet while others nearby barely took notice. The Death Star had at once been a triumph and albatross. The war was out in the open now. A dampening of holonews coverage was nothing compared to word of mouth across the galaxy. Alderaan's loss garnered little notice in the media but it was talked about everywhere. Everywhere. That's how Alderaan lived on, she mused. She got very little satisfaction from this.

The _Falcon_ would land a negotiations team but she doubted it would stay. Han would conduct his own business, looking for something to move, and she knew from past experience that live passengers were his least favorite. The Alliance would also send a shuttle and armed escort after negotiations were complete. But, if they wanted Captain Solo to return the team and it's new delegates on the _Falcon,_ they'd have to contract his services again. Leia sighed. She had left early to catch him alone, and was glad none of the other team members had arrived.

He was under the hull, using a welder. As reckless as she had seen him be, he did follow standard safety procedures. Somehow this conflicted with what else she knew about him. She remembered how he had taken off after the stormtroopers on the Death Star, one man giving chase to many, no regard for personal safety. Now, he wore gloves and goggles. Tufts of his dark hair were sticking out from under the strap.

Leia cleared her throat. "Captain Solo."

He stayed with the welder, ignoring her, longer than he needed to. Then he lifted the goggles, mussing his hair even more, and looked at Leia expectantly. "Hey, your Highness," he greeted.

"Lieutenant Commander Antilles told me about the relay sensors. I wanted to thank you for them. They should be a great asset in battle."

Han nodded, inspecting his welding. "They're handy alright."

Leia couldn't resist; really this was why she had come early, not to thank him. "He said you encountered them?"

Han smiled at her phrasing. He had used exactly those same words to Wedge, and it pleased him to hear it come back unaltered through the grapevine. "Yeah, last run. I boarded a freighter that was on its way to Tannoddaa – you know there's an Imperial outpost there, I'm sure – saw they had those, and thought of you."

She knew she was going to ask, and somehow he seemed to have control of the conversation, so she kicked herself but spoke anyway."Boarded? You committed piracy?"

He shrugged. "Thought you called me a pirate."

"I called you a nerfherder! There's a big difference."

Han frowned. "I'd rather be a pirate."

"Captain," Leia began her lecture, again – she couldn't help it - "this is the Rebel Alliance. This is a legitimate army-"

"-not to the Empire."

"-fighting a war! We need the support of other systems. Stealing, bullying and piracy are acts of terrorism and not condoned by the Alliance and will not engender support! Systems will run to the Empire for protection from us -"

Han was nodding as if he were in perfect agreement with her. "I told them Senator Mothma would write a personal letter of thanks."

She was going to pretend she had not heard him. "- in order for us to win respect and establish order we must -," and then his words registered. "-wait. What?! Leia was incredulous. She envisioned Captain Solo, pirate, holding a crew at blaster point, stealing crates of cargo and telling them conversationally a Rebel leader would be grateful. "Are you insane?"

Han shrugged indifferently. "Could you take care of that for me? I don't really know her."

She found he had somehow ended the conversation. He looked on amusedly as her eyes took in her surroundings, searching for the last word. "And what will your business be on Avekivva? Going to play pirate some more?"

He leered at her. "Want me to?"

"No!"

"Want me to leave?"

And he had her. _The bastard_ , she fumed. Either permit piracy or admit she wanted him to stay. She'd prefer to hit him. "Talking with you wastes my time," she snapped, and she brushed past him to enter his ship.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Han remained in the cockpit most of the trip. The _Falcon_ was crowded with the Princess' delegation team and they weren't the kind to play holochess or sabacc or drink. It wasn't a terribly long trip, so they wouldn't need quarters to sleep, thankfully, but it would set them down on Avekivva on local night time. They'd already been in hyperspace four hours and had another three to look forward to.

He keyed up the topog' map and studied Avekivva. The port they were directed to was on the southern end of the planet; the city was built on a flat tidal marsh filled in over the centuries that led out to a vast ocean. The air and gravity was comfortable for humans and Wookies, but not, Han noted with some amusement, to the lone Asparid sitting at the gaming table. He'd have to wear a grav suit.

There was a rustle of sound behind him and Princess Leia entered the cockpit. Her face was tinted blue by the enlarged diagram of Avekivva as she glanced around. "Where's Chewie?"

Han waved behind him. "In his quarters. He likes to stretch out more and I've got this watch covered."

Leia nodded quietly, taking Chewie's seat. "Everything OK, your Highness? Passengers starting to complain?"

She glanced at him, sensing he was a little defensive. "They're fine," she told him frankly. "I noticed you cleaned."

He grinned at her. "I have enough to my rep without adding 'slob' to it."

Leia studied the layout of Avekivva, noting, "it's a scenic planet, isn't it?"

"Luke would like the western hemisphere more – hot and sandy. But yeah, where we're headed it should be nice."

Leia leaned in more closely. ""Is that where we'll be?" She pointed a finger at a green dot on the map. She looked to Han and he nodded absently. "Looks like a tourist area. Public beaches, historic district. Do you have any contacts there?"

Han scratched at his cheek. "Nope," he sighed. "But I'll check it out. Might go swimming," he said lightly.

She gave him a slight smile, remembering Wedge's comments but not sure if she should take him seriously. Her eyes flickered from him to the display. The topog' map held a fascination for her. "Would Alderaan still pull up for you or is it gone from there too?" She gestured with her chin towards the device.

"It's in the database. It'll always be there, Princess. Wanna see?" His fingers hovered over the command keys while he gauged her reaction. She looked both afraid and yearning, so he keyed it up and suddenly it materialized before her, familiar and extinct.

Leia gasped and let out a small sound. "Look at it," she whispered. She held her hand out, as if to touch it. "Have you ever been to Alderaan?"

"Once," he answered quietly.

"It was a beautiful planet."

"It was," he agreed. "The lakes and mountains." He would tell her about his visit sometime.

"I think about Alderaan's place in the galaxy," Leia's voice was hushed and tragic, "that it was unique," she waved her hand, "like these other planets. What it offered. What we'll never see again. Even the flowers – especially the flowers and the animals. The galaxy is so full of wonders. And," her voice cracked despite her efforts to stay composed, "I'm so sad for them. For them, not for me," she repeated, and Han noticed a tear had rolled to the tip of her nose. He stopped himself from reaching for it.

"They were so innocent," she whispered. "I just want to tell them I'm sorry."

Han remained motionless. There was nothing he could say to her, really. She'd heard everything, no doubt, everything from people telling her it was her fault, telling her it was the Maker's plan (like that made any sense, Han snorted to himself), telling her she needed time and she would find another place to call home, telling her they were sorry for her loss. He wasn't going to make Leia apologize for her grief. He wished animals and flowers had a place to go when they died. He would fly her there and she could give them her message. And then she'd feel better. But right now, he felt a little uncomfortable.

She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry," she said meekly.

 _Damn,_ Han thought. She apologized. "You've got nothing to be sorry about," he insisted to her.

She nodded. "I feel like…," she grappled with her thoughts. "...like, I'm alive, but everything I know is dead. So I have one foot in the land of the dead and the other with the living. And I don't belong either place."

"Yeah," Han said huskily. "I think it's like that when you have a sudden death." She threw him a sharp glance, not expecting empathy from him. "Eventually, you'll come back to the living side."

"My father was right to die with his people," she said.

Han's eyes widened and he inhaled deeply. But, gods, she was letting it all out tonight. "Well, he was on planet, wasn't he, with no warning," Han commented. "So it's not like he was making a statement."

She recoiled a little in her seat. _Well, that was idiotic_ , Han told himself. "What do you mean, Princess?" he pressed.

"As ruler," she spoke very hesitantly, like she was afraid of Han's reaction, "if there was no recourse, nothing he could do to change the outcome, it was right he died with his people."

"And what about you?" Han recognized this was where they were headed.

"I'm the people's representative. Even though there aren't any people," now she dripped bitterness. "I just want to be dead with them," her head was bowed, fingers laced, voice a sound wave in the cockpit.

"There are people," he corrected her. "You weren't the only survivor. You represent the ones off-planet."

"We didn't survive," she said wryly. Survivors are present during a disaster but live through it. We weren't there is all. There's a difference."

"OK, you weren't there. You still got people who demand justice, who need help. They don't count?"

"Of course they count. But they're like me, they'd rather be dead."

"Do you want them to be dead? Or just yourself?" Han was speaking a little louder now, a little harsher, but he couldn't help himself. He had moved beyond discomfort to outright alarm.

"I don't want them to. But I think that's what they'd want."

"Would you give up on them?" he demanded.

"What would you say if I did?" she whispered.

Han jerked himself back in his seat, his lips twisting in agitation. "I'd be pissed," he admitted.

She looked up at him, shock in her eyes. "That's not a platitude."

"No, it isn't. That's what you want? You won't get it from me. I know you're half dead. I know it." There was an urgency to his tone that told her this was a lot more than a simple conversation. "Hell, you'd have to be, after something like that. But it ain't the end for you, Highness, and that's that. So make it worth it."

He stopped abruptly, and Leia blinked at him, expecting more, expecting a speech. But this was a physical man, not an articulate one. The thought briefly crossed her mind that she must be presenting quite the challenge. A measure of happiness flared inside.

"What do you think it would be like for you," and she was glad to hear strength and steadiness return to her voice, like they were just talking, "if you woke up one morning, and Corellia was gone? Just gone – doesn't matter how, if it was a Death Star or something like the suns dying."

Han quirked his lips. "I have no idea," he said. Oddly, he found he was thinking of a crustacean that waved its claws like a salute, and how he would miss it. "We flew through the debris field of Alderaan; the old man and Luke and me," he told her. "And at the time, all we could talk about was the _how_ of it; not the _what._ I still have trouble wrapping my head around it."

The captain's chair squeaked as Han shifted to lean closer to the Princess. "I can't give you philosophy, if that's what you want. I can only give you what I know. But you were right, what you said earlier: the galaxy is amazing. And now there's a planet missing from it."

His eyes, Leia noted, were blue like the topog' map, and he gave his telling exhale of thought. "War's have been around forever. I guess that's politics. But this, this hole I have in my star charts, that ain't politics. It's gricked up."

Leia was touched by his profanity. She looked head long at him and laughed suddenly. "I'm gricked up," she said.

He laughed with her. "You might be at that, Princess."

And, somehow, she was comforted. Han Solo, of all people, had tucked her into his personal view of the universe and found a place for her. She was content to be a messed up girl and not the totem of disaster by which others classified her, even Luke. It was a small role, almost insignificant, but a part of a larger whole nonetheless. She started to belong again.

"Wedge said you're a Fish?" she broke the silence.

Han turned to her, voice registering surprise. "What?"

"On Corellia. He said he's a Dirtsider, and that he'd never have known you because you're a water person."

"Huh," Han said. "You mean Dirt. Why were you talking about that?"

Leia shrugged carelessly. He wasn't teasing, so he was close to shutting her out, and she back pedaled. "We were talking about the Emperor and prejudice. Wedge said on Corellia the Water Lands and the Hill Country have always been prejudiced against each other."

"I guess that's one way of looking at it," Han conceded, remembering periodic bursts of violence on his homeworld. He looked at her. "He's Dirt, eh? I don't know where I'm from."

"He said by your eyes, and coloring, and height." Her manner remained light. "He said Fish – Fishies? - like the water."

"Fishies. I do like the water."

"And that they're good swimmers."

"Maybe. Palpatine didn't…" Han breathed in, struggling to explain. "… do you know there was.." he trailed off, not finding an economical way to explain the massacre.

"Wedge told me. He explained the whole Corellian mythology, too."

"Bet it was fascinating," Han said dryly.

"It was."

"I grew up on the streets," he gave up quietly.

"Oh."

"So I don't know where I'm from."

"I'm sorry." Leia barely dared to breathe, listening to how quiet the rumble of his voice was and thinking this was the closest she'd ever gotten to him. _The business of friendship. Han Solo, you are having a sale. Giving out freebies._

"Don't be."

"It must have been hard, at times."

"Got me this far. Never coulda rescued a Princess without it." Han relaxed a little, finding they were back on familiar territory.

"That wasn't a rescue," Leia chided with humor. "It was teamwork."

"Teamwork."

"Yes. I had to rescue you guys from the detention area."

Han chuckled.

 _The business of friendship._ Something was nagging at Leia. "Han," she ventured. "How do you manage to find us again after you leave?"

His eyes were wide and a bit guilty. "I have Luke's comm," he said simply.

The ramifications of his statement thundered at Leia. "What?!" she exclaimed. "It's Luke? He tells you where we are? Over the comm?"

Han grinned. "Yeah, he's not so green anymore, is he. He likes to stay in touch. Tends to jammer on a bit," Han allowed, "but he's let me know every time the base evac'd."

He enjoyed the sight of Leia's open and speechless mouth. "Don't worry, Princess. He uses a code."

"He could be seriously reprimanded for that," she said. "The risk of security breach…."

"Yeah," Han allowed. "He's careful though. Don't do that to him."

She knew she wouldn't. She would have a talk with Luke, a strongly worded talk for sure, but she saw Luke had, in a way, put a down payment on ensuring Han stayed a part of his life.

 _Those two,_ she seethed. _The business of friendship._


	4. Chapter 4

Luke slammed Han's blaster into his chest. He was furious. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

Han frowned. "It's called saving your ass, Junior." He rubbed his chest. "That hurt." He shoved his blaster back into the holster, meeting Luke's glare.

"You don't want to save yours?" Luke asked harshly.

"What do you mean? I'm not dead."

"You do it all the time, Han-"

"- do what?"

"- rush headlong straight into fire! Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Han shrugged. "No. It works."

"It may not work next time!" Han was a little taken aback by Luke's reaction. His brows were knit in anger, blue eyes blazing out of a reddened face.

"Why the hell are you so mad?" Han demanded. "You're here; I'm here. It worked."

"If it was one time I'd say you were crazy." Luke threw his arms in the air. "Why do you want to die?"

"Who says I wanna die?"

"I'm saying you want to die! No one does something like that as their first defense, Han. You do it all the time. You ran right at them. They already had weapons up. And all you did was scream at them!"

Han dismissed Luke with another shrug. "Wookies do it."

"You're not a Wookie, Han. Stop trying to get killed." Suddenly Luke was drained, already feeling like he was defeated.

"I'm not trying," Han repeated, beginning to feel irritated.

"Yes, you are. And I don't know why. And it bothers me. Because we're supposed to be fighting, side by side. And I don't want to bring your body back."

Han muttered something.

"What?" Luke gave Han a breath to answer. "What'd you say?"

Han began to check the diagnostic screens on the _Falcon_ for lift off. He made no comment.

"No – what?" Luke insisted. He moved around to try and make eye contact. "What did you say? See? You do have a death wish."

"I do not, kid. Now shut up! I don't wanna talk about this anymore. I did what I do. You're alive. You're welcome, so shut up." Han was pissed. He wasn't sure why. He was pissed Luke was so pissed, that he was making such a big deal about his reckless charge. Han had never thought about death wishes before. Maybe to Luke it seemed like he had one, but really, the reckless charge was pretty effective. He'd only been hit by a stun blast once in all the times he'd used it. That stun blast….. Han remembered feeling such relief. Then he woke up.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Luke was not enjoying the strained relations between him and Han as they flew back to base. His friend was short-tempered, surly, and heated enough food only for himself. At least, Luke reflected, he wasn't really talking to Chewie, either.

Luke was not good with cooking, but he was hungry, so he attempted to use the heater. He took a guess at the temperature setting and set his rump against the galley table to wait.

Chewie lumbered into view, gesturing animatedly and speaking in his native tongue that Luke still had so much trouble understanding.

"What-?"

Chewie ventured to the heater, opening the door and revealing a swirl of gray steam. Luke smelled his ruined meal before he saw it.

"Oh," he groaned, disappointed. "I burnt it. Wait, Chewie. I don't know what you're saying."

Chewie stalked over to the tech station. Luke watched him expectantly as the Wookie pulled up a screen and spoke into a rod. He gestured at the screen and Luke read words in Basic:

"I smelled it all the way from the cockpit." Luke read, and met Chewie's eyes, grateful for the translator and sheepish about his culinary failure.

"I'm starting to think my Aunt Beru didn't do me any favors by cooking and cleaning for me," Luke admitted.

"A mother births; a mentor prepares," Chewie stated.

Luke nodded. The translator seemed to lack the character of Han's, and for that matter, even C-3PO's, translations.

"We don't use dishware on my homeworld," Chewie continued. "We make an unleavened bread, and eat it with the meal."

"Really?" Luke was amazed. "So there's no dishes to clean? Why don't other cultures do that – it's brilliant!"

Chewie nodded. "Han has learned to cook it too. It amuses him to eat his plate, but he appreciates the efficiency."

The bowl inside the heating unit had cooled enough so Luke could remove it without burning his fingers. He stared at the hardened, lumpy mass that had been soup. The water had burnt out, he realized. His thoughts sprang to his Uncle Owen.

"My uncle would have a fit about this. Such a waste of water."

Chewie let out a barking laugh. "The desert has not left you behind, has it?"

"I guess not."

"Better clean that out before Han finds the mess," Chewie advised.

"Yeah." Luke reached for something to hack the contents out of the bowl. He much preferred Chewie discovering the mistake. Han would tease relentlessly. Or now, in his current mood, go off on a diatribe.

Luke sighed. "How do you put up with him, Chewie?" he asked.

"I do not burn the soup, Sand Dreamer," Chewie's words appeared on the screen.

"Sand Dreamer." Luke threw a shy glance toward the Wookie. "That's me? Like Han is Vine Climber."

Chewie nodded.

Luke rephrased his same question. "Why do you stay with him?"

"You know the answer. I have sworn a Life Debt."

"Yeah, but." Luke closed his mouth, thinking. "But, you've saved my life before, and I'm sure his a hundred times. While I'm grateful, and I feel… I don't know, connected, somehow, to you, I'm not going to follow you around for the rest of my life. I'd certainly help you if I learned you needed it. But, to attach yourself… why a Life Debt? That's a serious consideration, isn't it?"

"It isn't given lightly. It is my honor, and an acknowledgment of Han's, that I do so."

"What did he do?"

Chewie cocked his head to one side, sniffing. He could sense Luke's frustration, could sense that for all the words being said there was something the boy was trying to address.

"You know what he did, don't you? I know the story has gotten around." Chewie paused, shrugging simply. "He rescued me from slavery."

Luke nodded quietly. He had heard the story. Not from Han, and not from Chewie. So possibly it wasn't a true version. "There is slavery on Tatooine," he offered. "Legislation tries to protect them, but they don't go to school and they can't leave the planet. Owners still have the most rights and there's a lot of abuse."

"A being in bondage loses his being," Chewie stated.

Luke tried to understand the cryptic comment. "My aunt and uncle wouldn't consider slave labor," he said. He thought of all the times he had made the snide comment to his friends that he was slave labor, and realized now just how unfunny it was.

"Han didn't want to rescue me," Chewie said quietly. "I saw it in his eyes."

"Then why did he?"

Chewie went to a cabinet, pulled out a container, and poured himself a drink. He sighed loudly. He and Han didn't talk about the rescue anymore. "He knew saving me would be throwing away everything he always wanted. He watched me long moments."

"And then?" Luke prompted.

"And then, he acted." Chewie was solemn, his blue eyes sad and ancient. "I think he realized everything he thought he wanted was wrong. So he found himself lost in a galaxy he thought he knew."

"With a Wookie-sized Life Debt."

Chewie smiled. "I offer what is steadfast and true." He lifted the bottle in the air, and Luke nodded, accepting a glass.

He sipped carefully. "But he smuggles. And drags you down with him. Doesn't seem steadfast or true."

"It is not servitude." The translator's tone was flat and harsh.

"I'm not saying that, Chewie." Luke waved his hand, anxious to be understood.

"Steadfast and true," Chewie repeated. "It has brought us here. What do you see, when you look in a reflector?"

"I see me," Luke joked lamely.

"What do you see that is steadfast?"

Luke's eyes went inward. "I see…. Friends. And family, even though…. I have values – you mean like work ethic and being truthful? That kind of stuff?"

"Exactly. What do you think Han sees?" Chewie cocked his head expectantly at Luke. "Say what you know about him."

"I don't know… money?"

"It is won and lost."

"His looks?" Luke joked, thinking about the things Han talked about.

"Youth fades."

"His ship? It's not very steadfast, is it?"

"He can't rely on it to function, no." Chewie smiled fondly, thinking that somehow many of the malfunctions had probably saved their lives by bringing the captain to a standstill.

Luke frowned, continuing to think. His fingers played around the edges of his glass. "You?"

"Nothing has shown him value. So he holds nothing in value in return." Chewie poured again into both their glasses.

"So you're saying not even his own life. That's why -"

"Yes -." Chewie bowed his head in concession. "But not today."

"Today?" Luke furrowed his brow, thinking. Today hadn't been out of the ordinary. It was becoming far too commonplace for some being to start shooting at them. He took a deep drink. "What was different today?" The drink did nothing to dispel how close they had come to being injured or killed, so he swallowed more, allowing the drink to dull his adrenalin.

"He has seen how much you value. How bottomless your faith is. You and the Princess."

"He calls me green. And naive. And Junior, and Kid." But Luke started smiling, because inside his soul Chewie's testimony was warming him. As much as Han grumped and complained and fumed and stomped, there was affection, even, Luke dared breathe it, love.

"He does not wish you to lose what you value. He will fight for you to keep it."

Luke poured some more into his glass. He drank deeply, enjoying how the liquid seemed to flow through his veins. He met Chewie's eyes and nodded. "Thanks."

"You better not be getting him drunk, Chewie," called Han's warning tone, and Luke turned around in his seat, grinning. Apparently Han was going to pretend their earlier discussion hadn't occurred. "I need him able to see straight when we get those coords out of the data plaque."

"I'm fine, sober as a bantha," Luke announced. He stood up, swaying a bit, surprised. "Hey!" He gripped the table. "I think the gravity is malfunctioning in here, Han."

"You're the one malfunctioning," Han groused, thowing a dirty look at Chewie. "Just great, furball," he complained. "Now I gotta deal with this. Cut it, Kid. Jedi don't giggle."

Chewie started to say something, and too late, Luke realized he had turned his back on the translator. "Chewie, will you teach me your language? Say 'Sand Dreamer' again."

"I think, instead, I should teach you how to use the heater."

Han sighed resignedly. "Fine. We'll work later. I've got to check in with the Princess. I won't tell her you're drunk."

Luke giggled. "That's fine. Tell her you love us."

"Huh? Get your pronouns mixed up, Kid?" Han eyed Luke and Chewie suspiciously. They both ignored him, so Han left them to the cooking lesson, absently rubbing his chest where Luke had hit him and thinking he was glad he didn't have bad news for the Princess.


	5. Chapter 5

Luke glanced around him, making sure no one was nearby. Slowly, he raised his knee to chest level, and eyeballing the little black comm on the floor, brought his boot down to smash it.

Little pieces of plastic scattered and Luke thought perhaps he'd done it too hard this time. He squatted, gathering shards and hardware carefully, and stowed them in his jacket.

He walked, hands in his flight jacket pockets, through the hangar, eyes seeking his target.

He spotted Han sitting on some crates with Wedge Antilles, and Luke's steps faltered. He considered turning around a moment, but decided to follow through.

Wedge offered a mocking salute. "Commander Skywalker," he grinned.

"Lieutenant Commander," Luke answered with a smile. "You're not drinking, are you? We have sims in 20."

"One quickie isn't going to lose my spot," Wedge scoffed, but he stood.

"I know, I know. You Corellians can handle your whiskey," Luke said.

Han nodded. "Yup. The three W's. Wean With Whiskey." He and Wedge laughed together. "What's up, kid?"

"I was just on my way to Tech. Need to see if they have parts for my comm," Luke explained.

"Not again!" Wedge exclaimed. "Careful, or they'll chain you to a desk."

Han held his palm out, wiggling his fingers. "Lemme see."

"That's when I lost it -", Luke protested

"- Twice, if I recall correctly," Wedge interrupted.

"But the other times, I got it fixed before they knew."

"You mean, _I_ fixed it," Han said. "Kriff, what'd you do this time?"

"Stepped on it," Luke admitted, glad he was able answer at least part truthfully.

Han was looking at him with narrowed eyes. This was the third time he had brought a broken comm to Han for repairs. Once hadn't been his fault. He and Han had been out at the lake, drinking and skipping stones, something Han had done as a child but which was brand new to Luke. Like anything he tackled for the first time since meeting Ben, he'd attempted to open his mind to the Force to allow his skill to develop. He'd found he was good at it, and so walked along the shore, eagerly pocketing the shaped stones Han had told him to watch for, and he'd tossed stone after stone from inside his pocket, realizing only the moment his comm left his hand that it wasn't in fact a stone. Han had fallen on the shore bank, roaring in laughter at Luke's dismayed shout, but had gamely waded in to find it. Luke was still uncomfortable in the water. That one had been ruined. He'd received quite the dressing down from command when he requested a new one.

This was the second he had deliberately sabotaged.

"Well, I'm off. Thanks for the brew, Solo. See you shortly, Luke," Wedge waved farewell.

"Come on up, kid. The 'B' gauge stuff is inside." Han swept a last glance around the hangar and headed up the ramp to the _Millennium Falcon._

Luke followed. So far his plan was working. He'd been with the Rebellion less than a standard year now. He enjoyed the camaraderie of the other pilots, was firm in his righteous belief for the war, yet he still felt like an outsider. He felt this was because of the hero status they'd bequeathed on him, and he was anything but a hero.

Less than a standard year ago, he had appeared suddenly on base with Princess Leia and Han Solo, riding the adrenalin rush of a harrowing escape from the Empire's clutches, and then made the final and fateful shot which destroyed the Death Star. Everyone looked upon him, upon Han and Leia as well, with awe. That Ben Kenobi had taken him on as as apprentice before his death was also taken with hushed respect.

But Luke felt neither like a hero nor a beacon of hope. No one knew that their escape from the Death Star had really been a bungling rush of running away from Storm Troopers, Ben's sacrifice the only sure shot they had of leaving. Luke was not sure either how much credit he could take for the Death Star. Maybe he'd used the Force, maybe it had been sheer luck.

Han and Leia were the only ones that knew the real story, who knew the real Luke Skywalker. He felt comfortable with them, at home. Han was fine with the idea of his shot being sheer luck and still was not disappointed in him. Leia knew he was not a trained pilot and Jedi, but she believed in him.

Those two handled the celebrity differently than Luke did, and he admired them both for the way they managed it. Leia rose above it, never addressing it but never dismissing it either. It dignified her followers and at the same time dignified her. Han simply refused to allow it, and wouldn't hesitate to deride someone for their hero worship. Try as he might Luke couldn't imitate his friends' mannerisms. His self-esteem was too dependent on others' thinking for him to allow himself to be emotionally distant or rude.

The passage of time and development of war didn't allow for the Big Three, as Wedge mockingly termed them, to get together often. Leia traveled to other systems, building the Alliance from terror cells into an acknowledged military force, and Han insisted on maintaining his free trader lifestyle, coming and going when there was something to be sold or bought. This was his fourth day on base, and already the culture of drinking and gambling had established itself, as it always did when the exotic smuggler set down landing thrusters.

Right now Han was regarding Luke with a measured stare. Then he turned his attention to the little shattered comm resting on his lap.

Luke relaxed. He had the smuggler where he wanted him: fixing something. Repairs had a sedating effect on Han. His focus turned to the task at hand, and he was less likely to force the airs or bravado he would broadcast during idle conversation. "Han?"

"Mmm?"

"What do you know about the Jedi?"

Han raised his head to look into Luke's face and sighed. "Not much," he allowed. "Why?"

Luke tried to sound mild. "Just been thinking."

Han shook his head imperceptibly in amusement. "Uh-oh. You're gonna think out loud now, aren't you?"

Luke smiled openly, though Han wouldn't see him. His sardonic wit was on target, as usual. "I want to understand what happened to them, to Ben. I can't get any information anywhere. Tried history databases, tried archived holonews. Nothing. It's like a giant cloak of silence. Like they never existed."

Han nodded. "Yeah. Hand me that. With the red handle. They were purged," he continued. "Why don't you ask some of the older folk around here? Bet they remember."

"Do you?"

"Well, a little. I was a kid."

"Yeah? And?" Luke shifted forward on his feet, feeling eager.

"I remember Palpatine gave a speech. Where I stayed -" Luke noticed Han did not say 'lived' "- there was a business, sold holovisions. And furniture and stuff." Han remembered it clearly, and sat back a little as the image filled his mind. "This was during the Clone Wars. The HVs were always on, in the front window displays. Rows of 'em. If there was any important news, like a battle or something, people would gather around the windows and get the news."

Han returned his attention to the comm. "So one day, everyone's gathered around and I went to see. Palpatine was on the screen, all … I remember thinking, ugly. And wrinkly. He didn't used to look like that. He made a really long speech."

"What'd he say?"

"Well, understand I was just a kid. And I couldn't get past how scary he looked, ya know? So I don't know if I paid attention." Han shuddered. "Ugly." He licked his fingers and began to twist wires. "He went on about how he was making a new government, somethin' about how the Republic failed because it was corrupt. He said the Jedi had tried to attack him because they wanted his powers."

"Do you think that was true?"

Han shrugged. "I don't know. To my mind, he was saying he was Emperor and the Jedi were going to be hunted. Think he used that word. Hunted."

Luke was stunned. He'd always wondered about the term 'purge.' It was a powerfully negative word. "And people were accepting of that? Sounds to me like he was rationalizing that he was solidifying his power."

"Sure he was. But there was always a mistrust about the Jedi."

"Like what?" This was news to Luke.

"Like, they were supposed to – you got anymore of those screws? There's some missing here." Han pointed to his lap and Luke felt in his pocket.

"Oh, here's two." He offered them to Han. "What were you saying?"

Han frowned. "I don't know." He worked a screw into place. "Oh - that they were supposed to live simple, like monks. But everyone said the Order, at the Temple, had a ton of money. Artwork, treasures. And people thought Jedi sort of….," Han sighed, thinking how to express it, "… flaunted their power."

"What do you mean, flaunted?"

"Well, used it to do stuff, that normal people would use something else. Like me with these screws. Instead of getting a tool, they'd just, do it with their mind, I guess."

It was on the tip of Luke's tongue to point out Han's acknowledgement of the Force, but he bit it back. He looked at his friend's head, bent over his broken comm, and pictured a little boy amidst a crowd of people, listening as someone changed the world as they understood it, and wondered if it meant anything to Han at the time. "Did you ever see Jedi?" he asked Han.

"No, not on Corellia." Han shook his head as his wrist moved quickly, turning the tool with experienced ease.

"Did you know Ben was a Jedi when you met him?" Luke was curious about Han's attitude toward Ben.

"Not 'til Chewie told me."

" _He_ knew?" For the hundredth time, Luke decided he really needed to learn Shyriiwook. The Wookie was probably a huge wealth of information.

"Yeah. He served in the Clone Wars with a Jedi general."

This excited Luke greatly. "Do you know who?"

"Never bothered to ask – they were all gone, what did it matter? Luke, here." Han lifted the comm on the palm of his hands. "I could use adhesive, get all these plastic parts in place, but it's gonna have cracks." He tipped his head quickly to the side. "Should work, though."

"As long as it works. So is that why you didn't like Ben, because you had that distrust of Jedi from when you were a kid?" Luke demanded.

Han frowned. "Who said I didn't like him? All that peace and mumbo jumbo was irritating, but he knew what he was doing." Han remembered the way Ben had looked at Luke, the stilled lightsaber raised like a gift. "It's too bad he didn't make it back with us," he said.

Luke swallowed hard. "Do you think he was the only Jedi to survive the purge?"

"Nah." Han wasn't sure he was lying. It was a big galaxy; Jedi were stationed everywhere. And Luke needed reinforcement. "I bet there's some that survived."

"Well, do yo think they're like Ben? Just living underground somewhere?"

It was obvious to Han. "Yeah. Dangerous to show yourself. Ugly Wrinkles is on the hunt, remember?"

"After all this time?"

"Hey, a threat's a threat."

"Seems passive of the Jedi. To just… wait. And get older. When they can accomplish so much more than just us." Luke waved a hand to include the Rebellion. "What do you think they're waiting for?"

"I don't know, Kid." There was a touch of impatience in Han's voice. "For you, maybe."

Again, Luke was stunned. "For me?" He felt like a star in a night sky. Bright, but no different than the rest. "You better be wrong about that."

Han gave a sad smile and clapped Luke on the shoulder. "Here's your comm." He laughed. "It looks like crap. Next time you step on it, just dispose of it."

"Thanks, Han." Luke sort of felt he hadn't gotten anywhere with this conversation. But maybe that was the point. He grinned at his friend, tried to imagine him again as a young boy, another bright star. What had Han thought, when he'd stood in that crowd and listened to a speech? Had he thought of any great future laid out in front of him? Years had passed and Han had gone in many directions. Luke _had_ learned a few things in this talk with Han; they had just been things he hadn't wanted to know. "I've got to get to sims training. You sticking around for a while?"

Han stretched luxuriously. "Yeah. I'm working a deal with Command."

"See you later, then." Luke jogged off to his training appointment, his comm still a bit tacky from drying adhesive and bouncing in his pocket.


	6. Chapter 6

Their reunion had ended, to Luke's disappointment, as it usually did, with Princess Leia decidedly exasperated and Han simultaneously delighted and irritated.

Luke mulled over the rest of his wine while he watched Han clean up the rest of their dinner from the _Falcon's_ galley table. Sorry that the evening was ending too soon, he contentedly patted a hand to his belly and sighed.

"That was good, Han. Thanks," he told the smuggler.

"Growing boys need a good meal," Han said absently, and Chewie added his own thoughts.

"Like you aren't," Han retorted.

"What did he say?" Luke asked, but Han shook his head.

Luke thought that maybe he should be insulted that Han called him a growing boy. After all, he was a Commander of the Rogue Squadron, and just as sure a shot as Han was with the blaster, but instead he rather liked it.

Since the deaths of his aunt and uncle, he was painfully aware that no one on the base could fill the role of parent, someone who worried and fussed and cared. His companions and colleagues were his equals, and war necessitated they worry about themselves. Han was far from the parental sort, very far from it. He was more like the bad seed elder brother, kicked out of the family. But it was a kind of fussing over and Luke welcomed it.

"You think I'm still growing?" Luke asked dubiously. "I'm almost twenty."

"Probably not," Han said. "But definitely not if all you eat is ration bars." He bustled about, grabbing bowls off the table and preparing the scourer with dishes. It struck Luke that there was a routine in his movements, a comfortable familiarity.

"Do you and Chewie cook in a lot?" he asked. "I figured you're always in cantinas."

"There's a lot of empty hours just flying. No cantinas in hyperspace."

"I guess not. You kind of surprised us with your cooking. Not something I'd guess you'd be good at."

"I make a point to be good at a lot of things."

"I already heard you tell Leia that." Earlier, the comment had seemed a challenge, had an element of suggestion. Or maybe that's just how Leia had taken it. Without her at the table answering defensively, Luke saw that the comment was innocent enough.

"Why do you bait her like that, Han? You made her leave early."

"I don't bait her. I was just talking. Anyway," Han seemed to chew on his cheek, "she likes it."

"What makes you think that? She left all mad." There was something about Han and Leia that Luke couldn't quite figure out. All he knew he was worn ragged between the two of them, trying to keep the peace.

Chewie interrupted with his comments in his native Shyriiwook and once again, Luke was left uncomprehending.

"Mind your own business," Han snapped at his Wookie co-pilot.

"What'd he say?" Luke asked.

"Nothing you need to know," Han said. "The Princess," he stated knowingly, "needs a fight. Otherwise -," he waved a hand.

"Otherwise what?"

"Otherwise, she's always the Princess. That fake smile, that political spin she's always spouting."

"You don't think she means it?"

Han shrugged a little. "She might mean it, but she's not _livin'_ it. See the difference?"

Luke considered a moment. "No," he answered. "You sound like Ben."

Chewie offered his opinion.

Han shoved a towel in the Wookie's hand and said, "That's a load of crap. Dry these, will ya?"

Luke raised his brows awaiting a translation and once again Han ignored him. "I don't see it," Luke repeated.

"It's like a… barrier. She's using that in-control Princess demeanor to keep from feeling."

"And you see it as your job to make her feel," Luke said, giving Han a look that said he saw right through him.

When Chewie commented this time, Luke understood enough of the body language and light tone that he laughed.

"Shut up, you two," Han said good-naturedly.

"You know, now that I think of it, I think my uncle had barriers," Luke said. Suddenly it was all so clear to him. Now that he was no longer living with his aunt and uncle, he saw the constant push and pull for what it was.

"We had a weird dynamic," he continued thoughtfully to Han. "My poor aunt, always running between the two of us, trying to get us to see the other's point of view." Luke suddenly realized how very like his aunt he had become. "She would have liked you," he told Han.

"See, a little baiting would have helped matters tremendously," Han gloated. "Gets things out in the open."

There was another comment from Chewie and Han threw him a dark look.

"Are you going to translate that for me?" Luke asked.

"No."

Luke glanced between the Corellian and Wookie, trying to pick up any missed cues. Shrugging inwardly, he continued with his train of thought. "I'd thought maybe he resented me, having to take me in, after my father died. Or he resented me because I didn't want the life he had. But I'm thinking now, maybe he was afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Han ventured, grabbing a glass and sitting back down with Luke at the table.

"Afraid for me. Because of how I came to them. And it was easier to keep me at an arm's length than say how scared he was."

"Do you even know how you came to them?"

"Not really. They didn't talk about him much, my father. Or my mother. I'm not sure they know for certain who she was, though Aunt Beru had an idea. I don't think they met my father more than a couple of times."

Han nodded thoughtfully, rubbing a fingernail over his upper lip. "Human beings are a pain in the ass," he offered.

Luke laughed. "And I'm looking at the biggest pain right now."

Chewie had something to add to that as well, but when Luke looked to Han expectantly, he saw once again the comment would remain untranslated.

"Am I going to have to bring C-3PO down here?" Luke demanded.

"Don't you dare," Han warned. "Chewie's just being a smart ass."

"Why don't you like him?"

"Why do I have to like him? He's a droid. Mechanicals are fine, if they just get the work done. Why do they have to have a personality? And his is the worst."

"Well," Luke stood, shaking down his pants leg and patting his full belly once more. "Guess I'll head out. Check on Leia and see what plans she's hatching for your death. Thanks again for dinner. Nice to have a home cooked meal again. Felt good."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Luke found Leia where he usually found her, at a terminal staring at a screen. He wondered if perhaps there had been a grain of truth to Han's insights about her. Leia was always out in the open; working, inspecting, meeting, as if she were afraid to be alone.

"Hey," he greeted her. "You calmed down yet?" He took a seat next to her.

Leia tossed him a quick glance before returning to her screen. "You mean from my evening exercise with Captain Solo?"

Luke grinned. He could tell the fight was still in her, words containing an irony and hidden meaning.

"I try not to give that man any more time than he deserves," she stated.

"Then why do you fight with him?" Luke asked. "You could just tell him to shut up and drop it." _Here I go, Aunt Beru,_ he thought.

"I could," Leia agreed. "I should."

"For some reason, you can't."

"No." She sighed, shoulders slumping. "He is either the most immature person I have ever met – it's no excuse that he didn't have role models around – but I do not want to know him when he's eighty."

"He won't live that long," Luke said sadly.

Leia's mouth was open to continue, but she halted for a moment at Luke's comment. "Why do you say that?"

"Do you think he will?" he countered.

"I think, given what we're all trying to do, few of us will."

Luke nodded, seeing for the first time what Han had meant about Leia. There was an emotional distance, a detachment, that didn't allow her to dwell on the depth of their situation.

As quickly as Luke had distracted her, she swiftly returned to their first topic. "He's either immature," she repeated, "or, he's bizarrely extraordinary."

Luke looked at her, surprised. "How so?"

"No one has ever – I mean _ever,_ in all the social situations I have been a part of, princess, senator, woman, "she ticked the list off her fingers as she spoke, "- no one has ever dared to talk to me that way."

Luke grinned. "What would have happened to him, if he'd been on Alderaan and treated you that way? Would you have him beheaded?"

Leia smiled. "We weren't that kind of society." She cocked her head at Luke playfully. "It's a thought, though. I suppose he'd be charged with harassment."

"No one reprimands him," Luke observed. "I know Rogue pilots who kind of look forward to it."

Leia rolled her eyes. "Rieekan treats me fatherly," Leia listed. "Mon Mothma treats me…" she hesitated, thinking 'motherly' wasn't quite the right term, "matronly. You, you treat me… brotherly," Leia decided. "The others, everyone else, sycophantically."

Luke's brows rose. "Wow," he commented. "That's quite a term."

"They just walk on egg shells around me. Like everyone is afraid of me. They don't really _talk_ to me." The thought made her lonely.

"Well, the way you tear Han apart, maybe they have good reason."

Leia shook her head. "No, it's more like they're afraid I'll fall apart or something. Han is the only one who … I don't know… challenges me somehow."

She stared at her terminal screen for a moment, thinking. "It's a good challenge," she affirmed, then sent her eyes quickly in horror to Luke. "Don't you ever breathe a word to him," she insisted. "But it is. I like it that others can see I can handle my own, that I can take care of myself. I feel …. powerful." She blinked, stunned by the realization, stunned by Han's gift. _P_ _owerful._ It was the best she'd felt in a long time.


	7. Chapter 7

Luke was aware of sounds. Someone was in the room, bustling about. There was a murmur of voices, one deep and masculine; the second mechanical. He spent some moments just listening, until all he heard was a soft breathing, a rustle. Wondering what the rustling was, he opened his eyes a slit.

Han Solo stood over him. "'Bout time," he declared.

Luke blinked. "Han?" His voice was a murmured croak. Han's presence was strong, loud, so different that the rest of his surroundings.

"Been waiting for you to wake up," Han said.

Luke was groggy and couldn't quite figure out why the Corellian looked to be standing over him. Luke could only see his head and chest. "Where are you?"

Han grinned sympathetically. "With you. Where do you think? It's white, it's sterile, and you're flat on your back. Medcenter."

"Medcenter?" Luke couldn't fathom why he was there. "Am I a patient?"

"Sure as the suns shine on Tatooine, Junior." Han seemed to be enjoying Luke's confusion.

"Why?"

"You had a crash," Han told him, a little more soberly.

"I did?" Luke thought back, could only remember the distant sounds of bustling as he woke. "I don't remember."

"Well, you did," Han explained conversationally. "Every time I get set to leave you wind up in the medcenter. I'm starting to think you do it on purpose. You got more ploys than the Princess."

"I crashed?" Luke repeated in a whisper.

"Yeah. In a shuttle. You weren't flying it, don't worry." Han knew how the responsibility of piloting weighed heavily on a being after a mechanical malfunction. "And no one died."

"I don't remember," Luke said again.

"I know," Han was sympathetic. "Want some water?"

Luke made a noncommittal noise.

"Hey, you with me?" Han's eyes peered at Luke.

"Yeah. Where's Leia?"

Han shrugged. "She's around. Should be back soon. Chewie made her leave."

"Chewie?"

"Yeah, the big Wook I fly with. Come on, Luke," Han snapped his fingers in front of Luke's face.

"I'm fine," Luke whispered.

"Coulda fooled me," Han retorted.

Luke let old words spoken run by his ears again, gaining cognition. "You were leaving?"

Han put a hand to the back of his neck. "Yeah. Lost my clearance now, though. I'll have to put in again. I'll wait til I'm sure you'll remember me talking to you."

"I'll remember," Luke groaned.

Han laughed. "Sure, kid."

"You sound agitated," Luke observed in his sedated state.

"Just bored," Han said frankly. "Been sittin' here a long time. I made you this while I waited." He held up an intricate knot work of shiny yellow cord Luke recognized came from the _Falcon_ supply closet.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"It's the ancient art of spacer's knot tying," Han announced.

"What is it?" Luke asked again.

"It's a sling. For you to wear over your shoulder when you finally get out of bed."

"A sling?"

Han sighed. "Talking to you is like training a parrot. Yes, a sling. Your shoulder is broken."

"Oh. Does it hurt?"

Han laughed. "Probably. Don't go looking for pain right now. You got enough drugs in you, probably not feeling much right now."

"I'm awake."

"Sure, if you call eyes rolling back in your head awake." Han peered back down to Luke, making eye contact. "Want me to go?"

"No, stay." Luke struggled to return to the moment but kept losing it. "I mean, I don't want you to leave."

Suddenly Han wasn't sure what Luke was talking about. "Well," he said. "I'm here now."

"I'll take some water," Luke answered a question posed minutes ago.

Han moved to pour some in a container with a long, curved spout. "Here." He moved his forearm behind Luke's head. "Gotta sit up a bit."

The water did a little to clear Luke's head. He blinked, looking around some. He didn't know why he hadn't believed Han, but he was indeed in a medcenter. The diagnostic screen was beside his bed, a drip line attached to his elbow. He saw his body stretched out under a sheet, the bump of his feet at the edge of the bed. "I crashed?" he said again.

Han merely nodded.

"Why don't I remember?" It was distressing Luke. Such an important event. He didn't even remember boarding a shuttle.

Han waved his hand. "Shock, trauma. You bumped your head. You might remember soon."

"Was it bad?"

"Looked awful. I mean the ship. You wonder how beings survive when all you see is crumpled metal. But could have been worse. A lot worse. You and Matinkl are the only ones still here. He's fine, been awake sooner than you," Han added as he saw the question Luke was about to ask.

"Were you going to pay back your debt?" Luke asked, thinking again of Han leaving.

"I need to," Han admitted.

"Who's it to again?"

Han shook his head a bit. Surely, Luke knew this. "Jabba the Hutt. You know him. He's on Tatooine."

"Oh, Jabba. Yeah. My uncle avoided anything the Hutts had a finger in."

"Good for him," Han answered mildly. "Considering it was most goings-on on the planet, that's quite a feat."

"He had high moral standards." Luke's voice sighed dreamily. "He'd have some strong words for you. Wouldn't approve of me hanging out with you."

Han jerked his head to the side. "Well. A lot don't."

"Yeah. Some do, though, huh? Addicts, gamblers."

"And Rebels," Han said strongly. "You're no fun in this drug-induced state," he said defensively.

"Sorry." Luke blinked again, trying to bring the smuggler into better focus. "I approve. How come you haven't paid him back yet?"

Han brought his leg in, foot starting to bounce in agitation."It's not that simple."

"How not?"

"'Cause." Han pursed his lips. "Jabba's likely to want a little more than money."

"Like what? What other kinds of payments are there?" Somehow words were leaving his mouth and Han was following the conversation, but Luke felt he was only half paying attention.

"Oh," Han tried to wave casually, "servitude, death, Rancor appetizer. Things like that."

This reached Luke. "It's that bad?" he asked in surprise.

Han sighed. "Yeah. Actually, I've been kind of putting it off."

"I hadn't noticed," Luke commented wryly.

Han watched as Luke's eyes fluttered between open and closed. "I'll go when I know I can get away from Chewie" he admitted.

Luke nodded vaguely, but the confession was lovely.

"He's too good at tracking me," Han continued.

"Can you order him to stay with us?" Luke murmured sleepily.

Han shook his head. "No. He won't go for that." He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then decided to speak. "I'm waiting for… I don't know. Something to happen. Something that can bring Jabba down. But he's pretty fortified. Hey, you awake?"

"Mmm."

"And then," Han ventured slowly, watching Luke's awareness very carefully, "there's you. You and Leia. Every time I leave I stick to the holonews, trying to learn if you got killed or not. I know I can't do much about that, but somehow I'd rather be there when it happens. You know? Luke?"

Luke was asleep. Han sighed. It had felt good, to say that out loud. Some kind of pressure left him. He turned to the noise of a door being opened and swallowed as Princess Leia entered the room. He sat back down, picked up the sling, and his booted foot jiggled some more.

"Any change?" Leia asked, approaching Luke's bedside.

"He woke up for a few minutes," Han told her. "Doesn't remember the crash."

"I'm not surprised to hear that." She turned from Luke's sleeping form to observe Han. "What are you doing?"

"Tying knots," he answered dryly. "Needed something to do."

"It's very intricate looking," she told him. "You're crafty."

"Oh, I'm crafty alright."

Leia huffed. "Too crafty for me."

"Never, Princess. Haven't put one over you yet."

"Yet you still try." She looked at him archly, a challenge in her eyes.

Luke groaned, and the two stopped, self-conscious and somehow feeling self-indulgent.

"Mmm?" Luke moaned. "Leia? Han? What are you two doing here?"

Han smiled broadly. "Hey, kid. 'Bout time. We've been waiting for you to wake up."


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you all very much for the wonderful feedback!_

"Sounds to me like you're complaining, kid," Han Solo commented.

He was seated at the console desk of the _Millennium Falcon,_ working at a circuit board with a soldering iron. Leia and Luke were at the table across from him, perched close together on the circular bench. Chewbacca was keeping watch over their flight in the cockpit.

According to ship's time it was late. Han would take over watch after Chewie; Luke and Leia were waiting for the shift change as a signal to turn in.

It was their third night. The first had seen a rousing game of Sabacc; the second was spent in a round robin of holochess. They would reach base about four hours after the ship announced 'day's light,' and the trio was making their own individual mental shifts, ready to end the relaxation of hyper space for the activity of a military installation.

Tonight they were merely talking over a brandy. Luke was on his second glass but he already felt tipsy. He noticed Leia was still nursing her first. She was a controlled drinker, Luke noted to himself, never letting the alcohol far into her system. Always in control. He didn't bother to count how many glasses Han had poured. He had much more practice than Luke. But Han also kept himself firmly in control, and since he had duty in a few hours he had slowed down the flow of brandy.

They had settled into conversation when Luke found his poncho behind the gaming bench. He'd discarded it one day long ago for a storm trooper's uniform while trying to escape notice on the Death Star and had given it little thought ever since.

Once he rubbed the rough fabric between his fingers, he couldn't believe he'd forgotten about it. He was reminded forcibly of Aunt Beru in the laundering room, of shutting down generators with his Uncle Own in the evening chill around the farm, the wind burning his face red as he sailed across the desert in the land speeder to meet friends.

He had described tonight the beautiful green of the algae that grew around the condensers, of catching sand gizas, the smell of whippormarsh soap, and how he used to grumble every time his uncle summoned him for the evening chores.

Han and Leia were interested in his descriptions of the colors of the desert; how everything from architecture to fashion was influenced by sand. Leia had fetched her shampoo bottle to let him smell Alderaanian marada flower and Han told them of the boldness of the rodents living in the Corellian streets.

Han continued to Luke, "There's no point in rehashing the past," he told him. "Regret's just a waste of time. It's true what they say; you can't go home again."

Leia nodded. She had come to the same conclusion recently. Unlike Luke, she would be unable to revisit her home if she ever wanted to. And she had wanted to so badly. Luke's planet still existed, and even if he had no longer had emotional ties, he could still catch sand gizas. Once she used up her shampoo, she'd likely never smell marada flowers again.

But Han was right. Regret was a waste of time. It kept her from moving forward. What was done was done. She would grieve, she would remember, but she would no longer regret. Not a moment.

She glanced at him curiously, wondering if he knew how sensitive the phrase 'you can't go home again' could be to people without families, like herself and Luke. But he didn't seem to be thinking about them at all, tinkering with the soldering iron. Was he thinking of himself, she wondered? He also had no family, but it seemed to have happened so long ago it was like he had never been a child.

"I used to complain," Luke admitted with a sad smile. "I remember exactly how I felt. But it's a good thing. Cause then I know I'm not sugarcoating anything."

Leia nodded again in understanding. Yes, she had also moved on from remembering life on Alderaan as the perfect existence. Now the most mundane things would jump to her mind: the pattern of the coverlet on her bed, the dress she'd torn jumping out of that adata tree, how she would roll her eyes at her aunts. These little snippets of events and emotion told her Alderaan had been real; she could think of the little moments and not fall apart. They were, instead, like a friend. Comforting.

"How come you don't talk much about when you were a kid, Han?" Luke asked.

Han's head snapped up, his posture rigid like someone singled out. "Got nothing to say about it," he mumbled at them.

"Oh, come on," Leia urged. "Luke's been babbling on -"

"Hey -"

"- and even I have shared some poignant moments and made Luke cry -"

"Hey," Luke protested again, but he was aware he was made the victim to soften Han so he didn't mind.

"We're sharing," Leia said determinedly to Han. "We're sharing because we're friends. And we want to share with you."

"Fine,' Han snapped, slamming down the iron. They'd been pushing him since he met them, and now they'd see. "Want to share? How about this? Those rodents I threw rocks at? It's 'cause if you fell asleep in the alleyways they'd nibble at your skin, whatever they could get at."

He rose unwillingly from his seat, his legs shaking. "I didn't have smelly soap and no one, ever, _ever,_ gave us food." Their eyes were staring at him, wide and surprised. "I didn't go to school and I didn't play and I stole from rich clean people that had nice homes."

"Han -" Luke began.

"No," he said harshly. "You asked. See if you can take it. Once, a kid had food. He was older than me. And don't ask Luke how old I was because I never know."

Han's words came in a rush. "He was sick. I could tell he wouldn't make it when the season changed. But he had food. And I didn't. So you know what I did? I didn't go up to him like some kid in a park and ask to share. No. I set on him. And I beat him so bad he couldn't get up. And I took his food." Han heard his heart thrumming in his head, warning him. He stopped. He didn't tell them the kid had died that night, that he had stayed in the alley with him, that he couldn't keep the food down and still tasted bile whenever he thought about it.

"That's who you're friends with," he concluded bitterly, sure it was all ruined now and damn sorry.

Silence thundered shocked and loud in the room. Then wordlessly, Luke stood up and walked over to Han and hugged him. He clasped him for a long time, helping Han to get back under control. When he sensed some tension leave his friend, he stepped back. "Thank you," he said simply.

Leia's eyes were shining. For all the time she'd known him, she'd learned enough to know that Han's background was filled with much more hardship than she and Luke had to bear. But she hadn't suspected the depth of shame. It explained a lot.

"Han," she said gently, eyes bright. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I love you."

Both men looked at her, delighted shock on Luke's face and surprise on Han's.

"Now, I would also like to hug you, but promise me you won't take that the wrong way either, "she said.

Han opened his arms, his grin crooked as ever but now shy and sweet. "I'll take what I can get," he said and she came to him. He held her lightly, sighing heavily into her hair.

Luke watched, finding there was a whole vocabulary in hugs he'd witnessed between Leia and Han. Their first, in the garbage masher, was of desperate relief; their second one of unbridled joy. Others had been perfunctory, polite. This one was affectionate and generous. Her head was never higher than his chest. He wondered about the sequence of events that had brought a Princess and a smuggler together.

"Do you believe in destiny?" Luke's quiet voice broke over their embrace. "Ben told me accepting my father's light saber, training to be a Jedi, was my destiny." Luke returned to the bench and Leia slid back next to him.

"I have trouble with it," Luke admitted quietly.

"Why?" Leia asked.

"Because… one person's destiny – what does that mean for others connected to that person?"

"What do you mean?" she asked again.

"My aunt and uncle," Luke whispered. "Their deaths were so brutal. So unfair. What a horrible destiny for them. I'd give anything for it to be different."

Leia wrapped her arm around Luke's and sat closer to him. "Oh, Luke," she murmured, looking to Han for help.

"Luke," Han said gently, and Luke was glad to hear the use of his given name. Names counted for something with Han. He continued, gesturing with the soldering iron. "Here's life in a nutshell. You're a lab rat. You're in a maze. And the way out is your aim. Call it your destiny. So you go around, choosing paths, and some are dead ends and you do a lot of back tracking. Eventually you find your way out and get the piece of cheese. Or you don't, you stay lost, and you die in the middle somewhere."

Leia threw him a disbelieving glance of amazement while Luke screwed his face up a little, trying to find comfort and failing.

"The point is," Han drawled, his voice firm and slow, "you never see the big picture. I bet even the old man couldn't know how things would turn out."

"I don't think destinies are fixed," Leia offered. "What if Han had refused you and General Kenobi charter? You might have found another ship, but things would probably have turned out very differently." She looked pointedly at Han. "That pilot may have joined."

He looked just as pointedly back at her. "Or Luke and Ben could have opened a Jedi school."

"The Empire's downfall is a destiny," Leia mused. "Governments have a cycle, historically, even the Republic."

"And like I said earlier," Han interrupted. "There's no point thinking what could have been."

Leia took a sip of her brandy, warming to her thoughts. "I think life is more an interplay of circumstances, of cause and effect." She cocked her head towards Han. "I think I actually agree with you, Han." She turned back to Luke. "I know it doesn't help sort out your feelings about your Aunt and Uncle, Luke. I'm sorry. I wish I knew the answer for you."

Luke leaned into her shoulder. He realized that was all he needed to hear, that someone was sorry. "Maybe, all these beings that have died, been murdered by the Empire. Maybe taken together, their lives weren't meaningless. Together, they're a powerful statement of abuse by the Empire, the reason to overthrow it." 

Leia dared to breathe aloud something she'd thought of since escaping the Death Star. "One of my goals," she began shyly, "when we form the New Republic, is to establish a kind of memorial. Have beings send in names, carve them in the bricks of something built new."

"That's beautiful, Leia," Luke said.

"I don't know how that will go over, to be thinking of that when there's so much work to be done. I wonder if I have the viewpoint of a victim."

"That's not a bad thing," Luke told her. "The new government should always have a reminder of what it was born from. That's what will keep something like the Empire from growing again."

Han nodded in agreement. "You have to remember the price paid," he said. Gingerly, he let his mind go back to the kid in the alley. He knew if it had been the other way around he'd be the one beaten. Both had paid a terrible price, he determined. He sighed, deciding he didn't want to talk anymore.

"I'm going up front," he announced to them. "Planetfall's in about 12 hours. You two should get some rest. Especially you, Junior," he pointed his finger at Luke's chest. "You have watch in seven."

"Yeah, OK," Luke agreed. "Thanks, Han."

"I didn't do anything."

"Yeah, you did." Luke kissed Leia on the cheek. "Sugared stars, Princess. W'e'll fight again in the morning."

She smiled weakly and squeezed his hand. The ship's lounge emptied as the three went their separate ways.


	9. Chapter 9

The market was crowded. Vendors in stalls displayed various styles of salesmanship as beings of all kinds browsed and shopped. Han Solo stood scowling at one end, waiting for Luke and Leia to stop being such tourists. His gaze flicked with feigned nonchalance across the crowd, keeping an eye on the exit and newcomers. On the opposite side of the market square from him, his Wookiee copilot bared his teeth in impatient complaint. Han answered with a small nod, his mouth tugging in agreement.

"Oh, look at this!" Luke Skywalker exclaimed. He looked around, finding there was only Han nearby with whom to share his excitement. "Sculpdo – you remember this?" Luke picked up a small and colorful canister, clearly marketed for children, and waved it at Han.

"Sculpdo?" Han looked at the label skeptically. "Soft sculpture mold for gentle hands," he read.

"I love this stuff," Luke said nostalgically.

Han snorted.

"It smells like childhood," Luke insisted, and Han gave a laugh with a shake of his head. "Seriously, Han." Luke found the canister was sealed. "I'm going to get some," he decided.

"It's a toy," Han said dryly.

"I know." Luke picked up a multi-pack in a variety of colors. He could picture a canister settled in with his belongings in his quarters. Somehow he knew it had to be there. It would be many things: a piece of his history, an amulet, a reminder of who he was. "Can I borrow some credits?"

Han gave a noise of disgust but threw a chip at him. "Can we get going now?"

Luke paid the stall manager, watching the third appendage of the alien species with fascination. "What species was he?" he whispered to Han as they left the stall.

"Markarian," Han responded. "Where'd Leia get to?"

"Someday I'll go somewhere and not be amazed by all the different life forms," Luke commented as they pushed their way through the crowd. "I saw her in here." They entered a stall specializing in holofilms, readers and music.

"You'll never see it all," Han answered. "Just stop gawking." He spotted Leia fingering through some titles. She was nodding at something the proprietor was telling her. "I see her."

She looked up and greeted the two men with a smile. _She's relaxed,_ Han thought. It wasn't often he got to see her this way. Maybe the shopping excursion had proved to be a helpful distraction for Luke and the Princess. It wasn't exactly relaxing for Han, who tried not to be in the open for too long lest he attract the attention of a bounty hunter.

Han felt he wasn't really safe on any world, but Luke and Leia were safe here. Not only was it very far from Imperial control, it was also an outspoken critic of the Empire. Leia had visited to unify support officially with the Rebel Alliance. It would be sooner rather than later when this world caught the attention of the Empire and was punished with restrictive laws. The Alliance and this world could mutually benefit each other with funds and military support.

"Time to go, Princess," he told her, and she nodded. She finalized her purchases and then they walked back in the sunshine to return to their lodgings.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Here, smell this," Han heard Luke say.

Han was standing at the window of their lodging room, just watching sunlight break into prismatic waves of color through the crystal glass used by the natives in their architecture. It was quite beautiful. Leia was busy, writing some final reports and packing flimsies.

Han sauntered over to Luke, who was seated at a table and already kneading a slab of the Sculpdo he had purchased. Luke waved it under Han's nose, who reared his face away and pushed at Luke's arm.

"Ah, I love that smell," Luke sighed, sticking his own nose into the slab.

"You keep saying that." Han opened a second canister, white dough inside, and sniffed. He shrugged, looking at Luke. "It's not that special."

Laughing, Leia grabbed a canister from the table. "I remember this stuff! It's so classic. It was always something we got for the holidays."

"Really?" Luke was delighted to share his Sculpdo. "It was on Alderaan? We had it on Tatooine." He turned to Han. "Bet you could buy it on Corellia, too."

Han shrugged. Luke grabbed the white dough from Han and began kneading the doughy clay, rolling chunks between him palms. Han watched him a moment, then reached for the blue.

"There," Luke announced when he was through.

"Your X-wing?" Han guessed.

Luke was pleased. "Try some Leia, Chewie."

Leia sat down next to Luke, pulling the brown out of it's can. Chewie stood behind her, curious.

Leia softened the dough between her hands, wondering what to make. No ideas were coming to her. She placed the slab of dough on the table. "What should I make, Chewie?" she asked.

With an abrupt movement, Chewie slammed his huge fist over the slab, shaking the table and flattening the slab into a thick disc.

"Hey," Leia cried in dismay while Han laughed.

Chewie spoke firmly.

"Wookiee art," Han translated. "Yeah, OK, Chewie. We'll be by soon." He turned to the others. "He's going to do pre-flight."

"What'd you make, Han?" Luke asked. "Oh, those birds on Avekivva!" he recognized. "Not bad, Han. I'm impressed." Han had used the blue, plus red and orange and sculpted the long tail, beak, and overly large head of the avian life form on a world they had visited recently.

Leia stared at Han's creation wistfully and picked up her brown dough. She felt blank. "I don't know what to make," she told them. It bothered her. She looked at Luke, so obviously connected to his childhood. Even Han showed creativity and imagination. Why couldn't she? She broke off a piece of brown and rolled it into a long coil on the table.

She watched as Han's sure fingers made black take form. Luke was pressing gray into a dome. "Is that going to be R2?" she asked. "You both amaze me."

"You just have to let go a little," Luke advised. "It's fun. Relaxing, too. Just make something you know."

 _There's nothing I know anymore,_ Leia thought, sinking down into her seat and thinking of Alderaan. She wished moments like this would stop. Sometimes she felt she was really doing well, able to move on and cope and just not feel so sad, and then something would come along and just kick her in t he gut. _I'm tired of grieving._ She rerolled her brown and pressed into the table, cutting away edges with her fingernail. She tapered an end to a point, and looked at it. _There,_ she thought, without calling attention to it, _a tear drop._

"Look," Han announced triumphantly, showing Luke his newest creation.

Luke smiled. "Is that Darth Vader?"

Han breathed loudly. "Come, Luke Skywalker," he intoned in a deep voice. "Let me kill you." He made the little black figure waddle across the table to Luke, who picked up his teeny X-wing and had it swoop around Han's Vader.

"No!" Luke mock-declared. "Darth Vader has reached the Rebel Base! Attack!" Luke make like the fighter ship was flying, saying with his lips "ptoo, ptoo."

Entranced, Leia watched. Here was her biggest fear, comically reduced to blobs of clay while grown men in phony voices played pretend.

 _Let go_ , Luke had said. _But I'm going to own it,_ she decided. Now empowered, Leia began to sculpt.

Han and Luke continued their battle of good against evil. Luke rolled out a spear and stuck into Darth Vader's chest. Han lay his little Sith Lord on its back and Luke used the clay bird to pretend to peck Vader's eyes out.

"That got him," Han laughed. "What've you got there, Your Worship?"

"Just wait," Leia instructed. "Putting the final touches on her now."

"Her?" Luke said. He leaned over, trying to get a glimpse. "It's you!" he exclaimed.

"My self portrait," Leia said in satisfaction. "Now bring me that Darth Vader."

"The hair is great," Han complimented.

"You would notice that," she chided.

"Yes, I would." Han began to clean up his dough, carefully replacing the lids. "Time to check out, I think, youngsters."

"That was fun," Luke said.

Leia took his arm. "Oddly enough, it was," she told him with a smile. "Now back to the real world."

Luke slung a satchel over his shoulder. "I'm ready," he stated.

 _Me too,_ thought Leia.


	10. Chapter 10

It was like the beginning of a bad joke, Leia reflected, taking in her surroundings, the kind Luke liked to tell: three humans, a Wookiee, and a protocol droid sat cramped in the docked speeder. She had no idea how the joke would finish, but found that any situation that combined a Wookiee and a protocol droid usually involved some humor.

The front seat was busy with the squirms of Chewbacca, crammed into the passenger seat, and the heavy, infrequent sighs of driver Wes Janson. Leia had graciously climbed in the back seat behind Chewbacca, who had released the seat controls as far as they would go and she was the smallest to squeeze back there. Next to Leia, C-3PO sat stiff jointed, while Vettara occupied the space next to him. They all kept a vigilant eye out for the last member of their party. Han Solo was running an errand for the Rebel Alliance.

The speeder, a rented model that looked like the very many others that lined the street and filled the docking lot, had sat idle now for almost thirty minutes. The passengers inside were growing more tense the longer they waited for Solo to appear.

"Come on, already," Janson said under his breath.

"Patience, Wes," cautioned Vettara. "At least it's warm in here."

"Compared to Hoth, any place is warmer," he countered.

The space port on Jech'sthar was a busy one. High above the streets an endless traffic of freighters offered only glimpses of sun or star light. Materials from all sorts of other planets came to this manufacturing world to have their native woods, ores, and fibers transformed into furniture, dishware, or clothing,.

To Leia's practiced eye, raised with the elegance of royal standards, the goods all shared a lack of character. Functionalism sacrificed any cultural nuances of the raw material's origins. She called the style Basic because it was about as universal as the language of the same name which unified beings across the galaxy. Distributed by Galactic Market, the items lined the shelves of numerous department stores wherever humans had settled. Galactic Market's slogan was Home Wherever You Are, and in a way this was true, because a being could buy the same thing no matter where they were.

Jech'sthar, whose economy depended on worlds under Imperial control, was nevertheless shifting political alliances. Before the destruction of Alderaan, the Rebellion was merely a footnote on the evening holonews. Now film makers and journalists, biased from the point of view of the Rebellion, brought stories to its citizens. One well-received documentary had been on the plight of Alderaanian survivors. There was also the best-selling holobook about the environmental decline of Jech'sthar's beloved moon, stripped of forests to supply the Empire's demand for wood. Civilian outrage was growing, and civilian activism was evolving from moral support to blatant financial funding.

Leia was on planet with her team to obtain these funds. It had all been cleverly arranged. A planetary Senatorial committee had funded federally supported charities. The Rebel Alliance, under an assumed charter organization, was one such beneficiary. Even Han Solo, who had flown the group to Jech'sthar, admitted the open yet covert funding was brilliant.

They had sent Han into the building to retrieve the funds. Leia had debated about this. He was not an official member of her team, just their pilot. But there was a chance the Empire would learn of this charity. Leia did not want to risk any member of her team; she also wanted someone with more experience should the Empire interrupt the meeting with a squadron of storm troopers.

So she had asked Han. He, of course, had made it difficult. "You mean if someone's gonna get killed, you'd rather it be me than one of your team?" was one of his interpretations. Another was "Nice you know I'm the best one for the job." She was used to him by now, the way he could flip viewpoints effortlessly til she never knew which one he sincerely supported, so she just ignored him and hoped that however the meeting went, it would not involve him shooting or getting shot at.

"Finally," Wes muttered softly.

And Leia saw him too, sauntering out of the building like he had all day.

Beside her, Vettara shifted slightly in her seat. "Mm," she grunted.

"What is it?" Janson asked, turning his head to look at her.

"He is a _man,"_ Vettara breathed.

Janson was puzzled. "Who, Solo? I'm a man, too, in case you haven't noticed."

"I hadn't," Vettara said darkly, and Leia smiled. Chewie made a comment.

"If I may," C-3PO interposed, "First Mate Chewbacca states that humans spend much more time observing the human form than Wookiees do of their own."

"He doesn't seem in a hurry," Janson observed.

"No," Leia agreed. "That's his nonchalant stride. He has three: purposeful, rushed, and nonchalant. He's OK."

Chewie offered another observation and 3PO helpfully translated. "He says point made."

Leia flushed.

"Humans appreciate beauty," Vettara told Chewbacca. "And we find our own bodies to be beautiful. We sculpt it, paint it," she shrugged. "I guess talk about it."

The golden protocol droid began translating before Chewbacca had even finished speaking. "Chewbacca feels this is because a human's life span is so short. On the one hand, he feels this expressionism shows an exuberance for life, but on the other he finds it a waste of time."

Leia raised her brows and shook her head slightly. "I didn't realize what a philosopher you were, Chewie," she said. She watched Han make his way among the docked speeders, finding him very watchable, but not in the same way as Vettara. To Leia, who knew him better than the human colleagues with whom she shared the speeder, Han's physique was the result of a curious combination of neglect and hard work. It was from too many missed meals, from scrabbling to make ends meet. She heard women talking about him around the base, comparing lists of what they found attractive, but that kind of talk bored her.

"Think he's got it, then?" Janson asked.

"Oh, he's got it alright," Vettara said, and Leia knew she wasn't referring to the contents of the satchel.

"Yes," Leia answered Wes with a smile. "I think he was successful." She peered sidelong at Vettara, curious. Her teammate was an older woman, in her forties, with an intriguing accent from the high country of Levsalia and a quick mind for finances. She had come to the Rebellion after her husband and three grown children were killed at a peace rally turned violent by storm troopers. Vettara was a hard worker, a natural choice for her team. But Leia was seeing a new side to her. Vettara had a guttural sense of humor and a hearty laugh that both Janson and Solo seemed to enjoy during the flight over.

"Look at him," Vettara muttered. "If he offered, I'd be his."

Leia was shocked. "Vettara!" she exclaimed. "Do you even know him?"

Vettara shook her head and her curly hair bounced against her shoulder. She appraised Solo with a practiced eye. She hadn't been with another man for a long time. Her husband had courted her, slowly and carefully, for two years before their marriage. Their relations were comfortable, tender. Nothing about Solo was comfortable; she recognized that right away.

"No," she answered. "Didn't get introduced until we left the other day. But I knew _of_ him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Janson griped.

Janson's reaction amused Leia. "Wes, you seem jealous."

"Jealous?" Wes snorted. "Just 'cause he's a pilot, with his own ship? Calls himself Captain?"

"No, 'cause he's a damn fine _man."_ Vettara said the word like it was something to be eaten, hungrily, with appetite.

Leia turned her attention back to Han, who was progressing quickly. She wondered if the other women would think differently of him if they knew how he had argued with her during the escape from the Death Star. Perhaps they'd think differently of her as well, she mused, because she had fought right back.

Janson fingered the ignition of the speeder impatiently. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said stiffly. "I see no difference between him and me."

"He's taller?" Leia offered.

"Ha, ha," Wes retorted. "So he's what some would call good-looking. He don't shine too much brighter than most of us, though. Right?"

"Mm," Vettara answered absently.

"Well, then enlighten me," Wes demanded. "Before he gets back."

"Well," Vettara began. "Good looks are one thing, but it's what follows. He's got a lot of great features."

"Yeah, and I got nice eyes," Wes said. "But you don't see me after every woman on base."

"Chewbacca says he is not after every woman on base," C-3PO broke in. "Although why we are discussing this -"

"More like women are after him," Vettara interrupted. "But you can just tell. He's physical -"

"Oh, please," Wes interrupted with disgust.

"He's physical," Vettara repeated. "He's very comfortable in his body. He's cocksure -"

"I did not hear you just say that," Leia said dryly.

Vettara laughed but then she shrugged. "You can just tell," she said again. "He knows himself and he knows women."

"First Mate Chewbacca disagrees." C-3PO's translation was much briefer than the argument voiced in Shyriiwook. "He says the women he knows are not the women he wishes to know."

"I don't get it," Wes uttered, confused.

"Like I said, I just knew _of_ him," Vettara corrected. "He's got a bit of a reputation."

"A bit?" Wes scoffed.

"His reputation is all in his head," Leia observed. "He's all talk as far as I'm concerned."

Vettara looked at her frankly. "Not really, Princess. He's not like that with you?"

Leia bristled. She wasn't sure what her answer would reveal about her own experiences with the smuggler. "He tries," she said, "but he gets nowhere."

Inwardly she was resentful. Perhaps it had begun with their first argument in the halls of the Death Star, but Han had persisted in treating her differently than any other being, particularly other females.

She wasn't sure what kind of relationship she had with Han. They respected each other, that was certain. She loved his offhand compliments. Once when they had to make repairs in-flight he had wordlessly handed her a kit of tools and pointed where she needed to work.

"What makes you think I know how to fix this?" she had asked, but had started right to work.

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't be surprised to learn you'd invented a hair styling machine when you were a kid," he'd answered, busy splicing wires.

His answer had tickled her. Sometimes, long after that conversation, when she lay in bed, thinking about responsibility, about life, and about him, she would hear him say that. And she would almost laugh out loud. In one brief sentence he told her that he thought she was capable, efficient, smart, creative, wore crazy hairdos, wasn't a typical princess.

She felt a moment of privilege and almost smirked at Vettara. No one had included clever rapport on their list. None of them knew him like she did. Maybe she didn't know him like they did, but that was alright. That was using and being used. Han didn't use her; she knew he would never use her.

But then, he made sure to ruin things between them, and that vexed her. Leia was a demonstrative person, had been since she was a child, and she could almost predict when Han would reach his limit and pull away by teasing, leering, and being offensively suggestive. She had not yet understood why he did that.

Chewbacca spoke again. He was unable to turn around and look at the princess behind him, so his deep growl was directed out the front window.

C-3PO politely offered a translation. "First Mate Chewbacca repeats that the women Captain Solo knows are not the ones he wants to know." The droid paused. "Or perhaps that is the singular. Do human males pursue multiples of females at one time?"

Chewie laughed and Janson let out a loud guffaw. "Oh, if only," he chortled.

But Leia was not listening. She stared at the back of Chewie's head, the russet fur mingling with the fabric of the speeder seat. Her heart stopped briefly. She had a flash of insight. _The woman he wants to know._... _I'm that woman,_ she realized. A delighted flush crept up her cheeks. Just as quickly the feeling of insight dissipated and she was left uncertain. Did Han Solo use his sexuality to _not_ win Leia, to turn her away because she wasn't like other women? It was confusing, and it was terribly aggravating. One moment she felt she saw him clearly and then in the next it made no sense at all.

"Here he comes," Wes muttered. He turned the ignition and prepared to put the speeder in gear.

Han opened the rear passenger door, squeezing in beside Vettara. He took in their expressions. Chewie was looking serenely wise, Leia awestruck, Vettara smug and Janson irritable.

"Have I missed something?" he inquired mildly.

"No, nothing," Wes said. "We were just talking."

"About men," Vettara provided.

"Oh," Han answered. "I'm one." He pointed a finger at the driver's seat. "So's Janson." He looked at Leia again.

"See?" Wes insisted. "He noticed!"

Han settled himself into the back of the seat as Wes started up the speeder and pulled into traffic.


	11. Chapter 11

It wasn't the same. The base was bigger, busier. There were so many life forms, so many Luke had never seen before. Leia had. Han had, too. Han would tease him, he knew. He felt a rueful smile, thinking about that.

The hangar bay was almost the same. His X-wing resided there, patient and waiting. Techs were all about; again there were many that were not human. But that was ok, he told himself. That was good, even. He was the farm boy; all the Force lessons in the world wouldn't prepare him for extra eyes or appendages or skin scales or fur. Experience would teach him that, and he was getting it here on Home One.

The sense of fun was gone, though. The hangar bay used to be fun, he remembered. The pilots and techs spent more than just shifts here. They gathered to play games, to chat, make music. They used to gather around the _Millennium Falcon_ , if Han was there, working for more than a shift, just tinkering, as he had called it. And the pilots would gather around, to see the modification, to share stories, techniques, to learn. But the Falcon was gone, now. And Han was gone too.

Luke bit back bitterness. So much had changed. He wanted it back. He wanted levity, camaraderie, teamwork. He wanted to be young, and carefree, and he didn't want this burden of guilt.

He stood in the corridors, wondering which way to go. He'd only been in the medical bay since his arrival and was still finding his way around. He felt lost in more than one way. He searched for Leia. They hadn't really talked since their return to base, and really not much at all on the _Falcon_. Leia told him to sleep, told him it was healing. He did at first, but then lying there just brought the horror of his encounter with Darth Vader to the forefront of his mind and sleep was hard to come by. He sensed when Leia flitted by to check on him that she didn't want to talk either, so he feigned sleep, not wanting to force conversation.

He had wanted to tell her _my father cut off my hand_ when Lando brought him to her on the _Falcon_ but couldn't bring himself to admit that, and he couldn't even say Darth Vader's name without the word 'father' screaming in his brain, so all he said was, "I lost my hand." Leia had sobbed openly when she saw his wound, sobbed like she'd lost a part of herself too. Maybe she had. He'd only learned moments later that Han had been taken.

Luke's experience on Bespin had cost him so much more than his hand. For the first time he was full of self-doubt. The Force withered inside him and he cowered at trying to use it. He'd always wanted to believe the Force had found him; found him willing and eager, forged a partnership born out of his desire to do good. Instead he learned it came to him by birthright, tainting itself. The revelation of his father's identity bothered him far more than the loss of his hand, but he couldn't help looking at the hand and seeing Darth Vader. _My father did this._

Leia also seemed to be in flux, like a misdirected nocturnal insect hitting at a candle flame. Her role on base had changed. She spent a lot of time in the medical ward, visiting the wounded. She was able to absorb their pain, take it inside her, help them relieve them of theirs. Luke was struck by the change in her. Instead of focusing on the ideology of the big picture, it was now on the small to the big. He wondered if what had happened to Han had made the change. She now mingled with the individuals, her attention grabbed by those that built and fought her war.

She was coming out of the medward, where he should have looked in the first place. She looked tragic and dignified and beautiful, and... Hanless, Luke thought.

"Hi Leia," he greeted her shyly, guilty for their time apart.

"Luke," she gushed, grabbing him in a hug and clasping his new hand, squeezing it. She looked down at it, then up at him, her brown eyes searching. "How are you?" They both knew there'd be no answering the question out in the corridor, with all the beings milling about, no privacy. That's why she had asked it there.

Leia thought Luke was so different. His blue eyes, once so eager and idealistic, were now shadowed and ancient. It wasn't just the scars of battle. He'd been marked by something else much deeper. He made her a little uncomfortable, and it disturbed her to feel that way about him. She no longer knew what he was thinking, and the bond they forged, which she heard in her head when he called for her from Cloud City, upset her. She wondered, if she could hear Luke, why couldn't she hear Han as well.

"Can we go somewhere?" he said to her, gesturing with his head away from all the beings.

"Sure," she answered and took his arm and led her to her quarters. The door whooshed open, revealing a characterless sitting room. Two doors flanked a porthole, revealing swirling space. Beyond the closed doors lurked a 'fresher and sleeping cabin.

"Master Luke," C-3PO greeted him. "It is good to see you, sir."

"You too, thanks 3PO," Luke answered. It was always the same greeting, the same response. The routine made him feel a little bit better. Something was familiar. "How is your return to base going?" Luke turned to Leia after they seated themselves.

She rolled her eyes briefly in acknowledgment of their situation. "Smoothing out," she told him. "They know I"ll be leaving again."

Luke nodded. "Han," he said.

Leia nodded in return.

It was like a void, this absence of Han, stopping all conversation. It had always been the three of them, plus Chewie and the two driods. Now wherever Luke went, if there were pilots he knew one was missing; if there were ships he knew one that didn't have her captain; if there was Sabacc he knew a player absent. The experiences went on and on, Han's loss like the phantom pain of his missing hand.

The two sat silently for a time, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Leia said, almost perfunctorily, "How's your new hand?"

Luke looked down at his lap and turned his new prosthetic hand over. "I'm getting used to it," he told her. He pursed his lips, thinking. "I didn't realize, all these beings I've seen with prosthetics... they work so well, I accept them so totally. I didn't realize how hard it is for the owner to accept it."

Leia nodded, but didn't know how to answer. "It's a form of scar, isn't it?" she commented. "Scars are a reminder. They tell a story."

He opened his mouth, desperate to tell his story, but all that came out was, "yeah."

"I'm just glad you're here with us," she said and cringed. "That you're alive, that it's just a scar."

They fell quiet again. Leia shifted a bit in her seat. "I can have C-3PO bring us a drink," she offered.

"No, thanks. I don't want anything." Silence returned to them. Leia felt badly about it. There seemed to be no going back to the way things were.

"Leia, I..." Luke began.

"What is it, Luke?" she asked.

He shook his head, unable to express himself.

"Tell me," she pressed. "We've always been able to tell each other anything."

He struggled, wondering how to start, what to say, how to express it. "I feel like crap," he said, and huffed regretful laugh.

"Not physically?" Leia guessed. She moved closer to him, finally bridging a gap. "You've been through a lot, Luke. Lost a lot."

 _I don't want what I've gained._ It took him a long time to be able to say anything. He sorted through events and emotions, searching for one that felt safe. "I feel bad about Han."

Her shoulders drew together, and the void was back. "Me, too," she said but it wasn't what she meant at all.

Luke tried to read her. Since he'd first known her she was a study in loss. Now there was one more and she was as gracious and steely as ever. He'd found them on Bespin, not knowing how in the stars they'd made it there, or how long they'd been there. Maybe he shouldn't make this all about himself. "How do you do it?"

Leia pretended to not know what he was talking about. "Do what?"

Luke gestured with his new hand. "This. Carrying on. I feel like there's something so wrong."

Leia sighed. "Time," she said, but that was really not right. Time passed whether you wanted it to or not. "I suppose it's like adapting to a new hand. It assimilates in you, becomes part of you. And then it stops hurting. Eventually. But right now, the Corellian accent is killing me."

He was charmed by her answer. Maybe things could be restored. "How did you wind up on Bespin, anyway?" They had not exchanged stories yet.

There was affection in Leia's eyes. It's a long story," she said, thinking she was too tired to tell it. "But I met the most beautiful man."

It was like she was glowing. "Han," Luke guessed and she smiled ruefully.

She loved him, that was obvious. Really she always had. Luke thought of love, and how generous it made Han and how compassionate it made Leia. In his mind's eye he turned to his father, arm outstretched and beseeching Luke to join him as father and son. Did his father love him? In a way, probably. Who had taught his father to love? Because it was a twisted, selfish love. Vader must have known Leia and Han were his friends; how else would he have devised such a plan? Vader's love for Luke was for them to be side by side, serving the galaxy. But what about just side by side? Was that too much to ask? Had this war imprisoned even his father? And what had he done to someone else, someone Luke would have been proud to introduce as a friend, just to get Luke by his side? He'd swept that friend away with a wave of his hand, dismissed his life and worth entirely.

"It's my fault," Luke said.

Leia shook her head vehemently. "Don't", she warned.

"But -"

"No. Gods, what a trio we make!" she threw her head back to the ceiling in exasperation.

"What?"

"Me, you, and Han. I was sorry he had to drag me around the galaxy; he was sorry he decided on Bespin. Now you're sorry you came after us. Each of us thinking we need to bear the burden. We don't. Blame it on Vader."

Luke swallowed. _Like father like...no._ "I always wanted to know my father," he burst out suddenly.

Leia's brows rose. She had no idea where that came from. "I know," she said slowly. "You've talked about it before."

"Now I think it's not that important."

She flinched a little. "What happened that changed this?"

 _If you only knew._ He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, hands interlaced. "Look at you. And Han. You were adopted; you don't know who your real father was."

"Right."

'And Han, he grew up not knowing his either. Or any father-type being, for that matter."

Her answer was slow and uncertain, as if she'd boarded a boat in rough water and was going along for the ride. "Right."

"So there's genetics, and then there's environment. Right? Who you become, and how."

"Where are you going with this, Luke?"

"I learned from my aunt and uncle how to love. That's who I am. You, you had your adoptive parents to show you what you value. So you grew up, both of us did, in a loving environment. What about Han?"

"What about him?" Leia was feeling slightly alarmed. There was an urgency to Luke's manner now, almost a fierce desperation.

"He loves you, doesn't he? But he didn't grow up in a loving environment. What taught him to love? Where did he get that? From his parents, that he never knew? Is it in his genes? Are we born with the capacity to love?"

Leia shook her head slightly. "I don't know, Luke. I think that question has been asked for centuries. We don't know about Han. His earliest memories have no one, but that doesn't mean he never had it."

"Can a being learn to love? If there's a loveless child, and it's a monster, can you give it love, can you teach it to love? Would you be capable of giving it love?" Luke's questions followed each other rapidly, pressing into Leia, who would open her mouth to respond but then pause while another was fired at her. "Would you want to love it?"

Leia sat a little straighter, eyes widening. "I'm sure there are some who want to give love. That's why there are orphanages, and charities." She thought of Kobaji, the palace kitchen manager. "We had a chef, at my palace, and there was a feral bora. Kobaji would put out food every night and sit there while it ate. Eventually, it let him touch it." She smiled sadly, thinking how the Bora also perished in the explosion. "He named it Nevreelo: 'lost one' in Alderaani. They were very close."

"So you think there's hope?"

"For who? For Han?" Leia pictured him, feral in his own way, fierce and scared and alone and how eventually he opened up. "More than hope. He loves. And is loved."

Luke was nodding fervently. "So it's possible," he muttered to himself.

"What is it, Luke? Did you meet someone ...unloved... during all this?" she finished weakly.

He looked at her, eyes blue and again full of purpose. But he flushed. "Sort of," was all he offered. "But we have to get Han. For Han's sake, to show him what love is capable of."

"Han knows," Leia asserted. "He went after you in that blizzard."

"Right." But Luke had been thinking of Vader.

"You've got me thinking," Leia said. "I've been so worried for Han." The truth was her anxiety was so great it was torture. "Lando told me about what happens to sentients if not properly prepared for carbon freeze. Medically. Physically." She waved a hand, trying to seem casual. "Emotionally."

Luke felt himself go on guard again, wanting to apologize for his father's lack of empathy.

"I think, emotionally, Han's background has prepared him as best it can for something like this. It's got to be awful, in there," she felt her teeth begin to chatter again, her only symptom. "Lando said there'd likely be awareness." Luke's eyes got wide "But he's so used to surviving, being on his own. It's probably been a while since he let himself feel scared, but it's in him somewhere, how to cope with it. Hopefully, he won't have to be wait long."

"Do you think he's waiting?" Luke asked, curious.

"No," Leia answered sadly. "We both thought he would die. But if he's aware, he'll expect Chewie, only because of the Life Debt." It made her sad to think that he would await rescue because he felt someone had to; not because they wanted to. She knew Han, knew he would remember, knew he never regretted but also that he never planned for the future. She allowed herself to be lost for a time, thinking he had no idea how much she needed him, and how precious that made him to her. Luke watched her thoughts flit across her face. He felt a shift in himself.

"I'm starting to feel better," he told her slowly. "You know I've been training to learn the Force? When I was there, I felt it so strongly. Like it was my friend, in me, making me better. Then I left, because of you two, and even though they warned me I didn't listen. I still had it inside me, this strength. I thought I could handle anything."

Leia nodded in encouragement.

"Then I got to Bespin, and I was... it all fell apart. I couldn't control myself. I saw another -" he swallowed, still finding he could say neither 'father' or 'Vader' "- use the Force. It was their ally, too. Not just mine. I came so close to losing everything. And we lost Han." He gripped his new hand with his other one, squeezing it to see if he felt wires and rods rather than bones and tendon. He felt it again, that restless urgent energy that told him to move, to make it right. "I wanted to be the hero."

Leia leaned forward and touched his wrist and it was like no time had passed between them. "You always did." Her tone was sweet, forgiving.

Luke sat into her touch. "But I was so stupid. I know better now. I feel this pressing need to go off and be the hero again. But I know I need to wait. To plan. I'm going to make this right. I can't get my hand back, but I can get my friend back."

Luke had learned, sitting here with Leia and talking about life and limbs, that he had resolved the Force in himself. There was a flexibility in his character he hadn't experienced before. He had lost a hand, but it had been replaced. He had lost a friend, but his friend wasn't lost. He had gained a father, and it was up to Luke whether or not to build a relationship. And it would be on his terms. The Force gave him an enhanced awareness that spread out beyond Home One. Inside him, radiating outward, was the love from Leia and Han. It was the one thing he could count on since learning of his Force ability and he knew it was the one thing that wouldn't change.

"I changed my mind," he told Leia. "I'd like a drink after all."

They sat together for a long time, drinking and talking. Leia told him of her efforts to learn about carbon freezing and what to expect of Han's condition when they got him out. They talked about all the bounty hunters they'd encountered and vilified Bob Fett together until they were laughing. He learned her flight to Bespin was about as long as his time on Dagobah and if she got a little too personal he teased her until she flushed deeply. He told her about Dagobah and showed her a few things the Force had shown him.

The lights in the cabin remained on dim and the stars glowed brighter out the porthole window.

They came to a pause in conversation. Luke swirled his drink inside the glass, enjoying the tinkling sound the ice made. Leia was looking at him with shining eyes. "I'm so glad you're here," she told him. "I can't imagine going through this without you."

He nodded back with a smile, knowing she almost did. He found they had filled the void that arose every time they mentioned Han, filled it with friendship and determination. Terror and guilt and anger no longer separated them. There was still a pang. It was remorseful and bittersweet, but it would go away when Han was theirs again.


	12. Chapter 12

_And so we arrive at Endor, sitting in on one last conversation. Thanks for all the great interaction. It's been fun!_

Han Solo crashed happily through the woods, thinking how ducking and swerving among branches was almost as exhilarating as dodging fire from Tie fighters.

He emerged into a clearing, slowing to a jog. The first thing he saw was a towering bonfire, burning with an almost wild abandon. He wondered if it were left over from the battle when he noticed the smaller, darker figure of Luke Skywalker standing at its edge.

Luke had built a nice fire, Solo reflected. The flames were tall, and no doubt hot to be standing so close. They licked and bounced and popped. There was an odd odor, like when wires melted on the _Falcon,_ and a dark smoke curled ominously.

"There you are," he called to Luke. "A little Ewok told me I might find you here."

Luke turned, and Han took in his appearance. They hadn't seen each much since Han's release from carbonite. Luke had departed for Dagobah while Han struggled through the after-effects of carbonite poisoning and hibernation sickness. Their reunion was filled with preparations of the forthcoming battle. Now, it seemed to Han, they had a whole lifetime to catch up.

"Ewoks really do have eyes in the forest," Luke answered with a small smile.

"Nah, I was lying," Han grinned. "Your sister sent me to fetch you."

"My sister," Luke echoed.

"Yeah. Short, princessy. You know the one."

"There is only one," Luke smiled. He still got a thrill saying sister. Leia was new-found, yet somehow eternal. She rested like a pocket of truth in his heart.

"You got that right, kid." Han stepped closer to the bonfire, realizing with distaste Luke had actually built a funeral pyre. He saw boots and a helmet. Darth Vader. He looked soberly at Luke. "I'll never get you, kid," he said.

Firelight flickered in Luke's eyes. "Leia says I'm too forgiving." He paused. "How much did she tell you?

Han grinned at him, but there was an edge to his eyes. "The whole damn story. Quite a story," he amended.

Luke nodded in understanding. "It is amazing." He found he was envious of Han and Leia. "Everything, huh? I've known for a year. Not about her being my sister. Just Father. Ever since Bespin. I just couldn't tell her. Thought it was too horrible. But I told her she was my sister almost right away." He bent to throw a limb on the fire. "How's she doing?"

"She's…." Han struggled to explain. "… plotting Coruscant's release."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah." He dropped to the ground and sat cross-legged. "This extra father has really thrown her for a loop."

"He's not an extra father, Han," Luke argued softly.

"Yes he is," Han responded firmly. "She's known ever since she could understand the concept that she was adopted. Not once in her whole life has she gone to search for her biological parents. Never had any curiosity about them. Bail and Breha were her parents. End of story."

Luke nodded. Han had a point. Luke thought how he'd always called Beru and Owen aunt and uncle, their silence only serving to make him burn with desire for the father he would never know.

"It is going to be hard for her to reconcile Anakin Skywalker as her father," Luke admitted.

"Mind you, she's glad to have a brother. But I think she's sorry you told her about Vader."

"Maybe she'll come around."

"Doubt it."

Luke opened his mouth and posed his question carefully. "If you had a chance, if after all this time your father suddenly came back in your life, wouldn't you want to know him?"

"Absolutely not."

The decisiveness caught Luke by surprise. "Why not?"

"What do I need him for? I grew up, I'm done. I don't need a father."

Luke thought how little emotion Han connected to the idea of a father. It was mere facts and information to him. In Han's mind there was no point broaching the subject. "But, he'd be family, a blood relative…you'd have a connection with someone.." Luke struggled to explain his point of view. As a boy he had adored the idea of his father, a man who helped create him, who shared genes and history. He floundered, realizing he was trying to explain emotions, something that couldn't be grasped to a man who saw the concrete. "You'd know who you are, where you came from. Maybe it's where you got your love of flying."

"I got my love of flying when I flew," Han retorted. "Anyone would love it."

"That's not true," Luke countered. "I knew a girl on Tatooine who got sick every time she flew."

"Somethin' wrong with her, then. Although, there's bad pilots," Han commented.

"So you're pretty sure you wouldn't make room in your life for your father?"

"All my father is, is some guy that had sex and got someone pregnant. What do I owe him? My hair color, height, eyes? I can even change all that if I want."

"Cant' really get shorter," Luke mumbled, only a little resentfully.

"I wear lifts."

"You do?"

It was heartening to hear Han laugh so hard. He had caught Luke off-guard, what he used to do so easily a life time ago. "No, I don't. Hard to get short I guess. I'll develop bad posture."

The pair were silent as a portion of the pyre burned through and its form shifted, flames struggling to reshape. "You'll help Leia, then," Luke said, his face to the fire. Again, he felt a pang of jealousy. "Your complete disregard, your unsentimentality -"

"It's what she loves about me," Han boasted and Luke laughed.

"She'll be able to file him away as a fact, not be eaten up by what it can mean," Luke continued.

"Just a guy that had sex," Han confirmed. He looked at Luke. "Twice?"

"We're twins."

"Once then."

"I hope more than that!" Luke exclaimed.

"Oh, I see. You want him to have enjoyed life," Han commented. "He's got a hell of a legacy."

"It's Darth Vader's legacy," Luke countered.

"No," Han shook his head. "Anakin is, or was, Darth Vader. It's his legacy. The instant he changed names. Or Force sides, or whatever you say."

Luke spoke slowly, as if measuring his thoughts. "I think when I was told my father was dead, he had died, spiritually. I think he regretted going to the dark side a long time ago. But when Vader was dying, that's when Anakin could come back, renounce the dark side."

"Sorry ain't going to cut it, kid."

Luke nodded again, knowing Han was right. If Vader had survived, even been renounced by Anakin Skywalker, he and Luke would never have a future together. What would be perceived as war crimes would never die down. His father would probably be executed.

"I dared to hope for a little," Luke admitted. "Like a stupid childhood fantasy, that I could have a father. It just snuck in my mind, you know? Unbidden. The one I always wanted. I think I finally met the father he always wanted to be."

"That's why you're doing this," Han said, gesturing at the flames. He sighed. "Well, do it for you, then. I don't think you're going to change anyone's mind, even Leia's. Be happy with what you've got, and keep quiet about it."

Luke thought it was good advice. "You have leaves in your hair," he told Han.

Han swiped at his head with his hand, smiling as he pulled a twig from the tangles of his hair. He tossed it on to the fire."My contribution," he declared.

"I appreciate that," Luke smiled. He absorbed Han's presence a moment with the Force. "You're happy," he told him.

"Yeah." Han smiled, full and rare. That wrong?"

"No, no. Just ...different. So are you okay? Health-wise? I haven't had a chance to really sit down and talk since I left Tatooine. I know it's only been a couple of weeks."

Han shrugged. "Yeah, I'm good." He didn't look at Luke, and Luke was alarmed that Han, while not really lying, wasn't telling the truth either.

"Seriously, Han." Luke looked at his friend, assessing eyes, pallor, weight.

Han shrugged again. "They said for as long as I was in it would take time. I still can't eat or sleep or stay warm, among other things, but at least I stopped throwing up. Progress, right?"

"I had no idea." Luke wanted to say _I'm sorry_ but knew he would just make Han angry.

Han dismissed it. "I'm fine." He thought of Leia, waiting for him to bring Luke back. "I'm great, actually." The fire's heat washed over him, and he held up a sprig of grass and watched it wilt between his fingers. "Actually, I feel brand new," he ventured to Luke carefully, gauging the younger man's reaction. Luke cocked his head at him, interested, and Han forged on. He saw himself running through the woods, the sensation of ... _fun._ It had been a long time since he'd felt that. "Like a door shut. And we're opening a new one."

"Probably isn't that simple," Luke remarked.

"No," Han agreed. "It never is. But I feel like we have some control now." He turned to Luke. "Remember, when the first Death Star sucked us in? The second that tractor beam hit it was all beyond us. We were just reacting. This whole time, playing catch up."

"So we start a whole new story," Luke said.

"Yup." Han stood, brushing dirt off the back of his pants. "There's everything still to say, and there's nothing left to say."

"End of story," Luke repeated something Han had said earlier. "You're a mystic," Luke teased.

Han grinned and clapped Luke on the bicep to herd him back to the victory party. "Nah. That's a bad adaptation of a Wookiee proverb." He embraced the air in an open gesture. "Fire's down. Come on back. I feel like kissing a Princess."

Luke laughed, finding Han's mood infectious. He stood and began to move off, saying "you don't need me for that."

"No," Han agreed, his face full of mischief, "3P0 needs a dance partner. He keeps interrupting me."

"I don't want to know _that_ story."

The two men moved through the forest. Behind them, in the clearing, the fire was calmer and cooler.


End file.
